A Warm Hand to Hold
by HeathyrFeathyr
Summary: Guy has devised a plan to get Marian's attention for sure - he will make her jealous by flaunting another woman. But, if he falls in love with her, can Marian let him go? Or will she exact revenge on Gisborne's new flame? Can his vows of marriage conquer his need for love, or will he fall to infidelity? Please review! (Rated for instances of language and sexuality)
1. The Waltz

His calloused hand tenderly swept up from her fingertips to her wrist, a sheepish glimmer in his eyes. Marian flinched in discomfort. She felt cornered against the door jamb as Sir Guy of Gisborne crafted a shy smirk, poising himself to pounce for the kill. He leaned in towards her pouting lips just as she ungracefully dodged left, yanking herself from her position and slipping back into the hall.

"I really must go." Marian hastily spat out.

"Marian," He grumbled with a discontent that rooted down into his belly. Guy shifted his eyes to her and impatiently blinked as she began to wring her hands together. How many times had they danced this waltz? "You cannot do this."

"You cannot expect me to suddenly love you."

"You cannot tell me that you spend your nights wishing to not be lonely and saying you need company in the castle. Then you are offended that I grant your wish?"

"This is not my wish. I should have been clearer when I asked for my friend from Clun to stay for a few nights-"

"You must stop playing these games," a menace swirled into his voice, "You are a grown woman, grow up and get married already."

"Grow up and leave me alone." She quipped back before spinning on her heels and stamping off down a stone staircase. Guy boiled within his leather armor, itching in his veins with frustration. He pounded a coiled fist into the gray wall and began to sulk off, glaring daggers at all who passed him.

It was clear now, like sun rays filtering through windows, that he had evolved in Lady Knighton's eyes. No longer was Gisborne a nuisance. Now he was a game, an accessible way to entertain herself day or night from down the hall. But he was done. Guy of Gisborne was finished with being sewn to marionette strings for her sake. Then again, he has said this to himself many times before, often over a drink. He never was good at keeping promises. And yet he couldn't get the rattling out of his head. No matter how many women he hired to entertain him or how many drinks he could fit inside of himself, he constantly worried about how to impress her. Every fiber of muscle in him wanted to leave a mark in her mind that got her as addicted as he was. Perhaps, then, the key was not to leave desire in her – maybe it was the opposite.

Guy straightened his gloves as he reappeared in the hall for the Sherriff's party. Distinguished guests milled around and squeezed together in the castle's main hall for a night of gambling and feasting, no doubt to line Nottingham's pockets, but it never seemed to deter them. Plenty of beautiful women laughed and dined tonight. Nearly all of them had their own money and appeal. He pondered what Marian may think of him if he floated through the halls with feminine candy strewn from his arm, boasting her to inflate his ego to bursting. Would she become jealous? Passionate? It was worth a shot.

Hs clear blue eyes drifted from table to table to find his latest mistress. She would have to be better than Maid Marian, he imagined, if she were to become ignited by the sight of his companion. That one was too tall, her far too fat, her with no chest. After multiple rounds through the crowd, Gisborne bit his lip. This may be much more difficult than he assumed. At the neighboring craps table, he noticed a woman with deep auburn hair trickling down her back, tall slim frame leaning elegantly over the table to roll the dice. It took only an icy stare at another patron to create a hole where Guy could put himself.

"Doing well I see." He began with a tight smile, eyes exuding his charm. As the woman regrouped her dice she had a light grin.

"For now I suppose. And you?"

"Not much for gambling, I already have more than enough money for a single man." He noted. In Gisborne's mind he was fishing with irresistible bait. The woman nodded and rolled yet again.

"I see."

"I didn't catch your name."

"Abigail. Abigail Stewart." She said, turning to him.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne." He reached for her hand and gave it a kiss as Abigail's roll ruined her game. She handed back most of her chips and led him back to her dining table. Candles burned down in chandeliers that dangled from the ceiling rafters and lent the faint smell of beeswax through the room. The pair did the standard introductions – what they are interested in, where they are from, and quite frankly Gisborne couldn't care less. Every few sentences he would sneakily examine for Marian down the hall.

"So," he said with distraction, "From Derbyshire you say? All I've ever seen out there are boring old men and apple trees. Thank goodness you're much prettier." Guy gave a mild chuckle while Abigail laughed, but his pleasure didn't last long. She gave a wholehearted laugh that lasted to him an eternity. The noises she made were nothing less than a copy of geese; he swore clashing swords made a more digestible noise. Damn, this really would be difficult.

"Maybe you should accompany me sometime –"

"No."

"Oh, you don't travel?"

"I have no interest in you." He bluntly sneered before scanning for a new woman. Abigail sat in shock for a moment before huffing off in a storm. What if there was no one better than Marian? As she walked into his thoughts, she also walked into the hall, a cellophane smile painted on for Vaisey's sake. Guy pursed his lips and frantically made another sweep with his pale blue eyes.

"Excuse me, my lord?" Came a shy call. Gisborne looked up to see a waitress before him with a tray of mugs balanced on her petite hand. She looked no more than nineteen or twenty and seemed wildly shy, "It's not really my business, but I thought you may want a drink."

"A man could always use one." He smiled.

"I've been serving that lady all night, I'm sorry you had to deal with her too. I didn't realize geese gambled." The waitress giggled and slapped her hand over her mouth. Gisborne laughed and glanced over to Abigail again. "I am so sorry, that was so inappropriate. Forgive me."

"It was funny." He grinned. She seemed to flush with embarrassment while setting down the mead. Guy snapped back into focus and relocated Marian, seeing her edge closer, watching her look around the room.

"Sir Guy." The waitress curtsied to leave, but he stretched out a gloved hand and gently wrapped it around her slender wrist.

"Won't you sit with me, have a drink?"

"Oh, no, I really can't," She explained with wide eyes, "I can't afford to lose this job."

"You know my name, so you must know I run this castle. I won't let you be fired… just one drink." Guy flashed a bright white smile that lead her to blush again. The waitress bit her lip knowing she was making the wrong choice but excitedly nodded anyways. Gisborne stood to pull out her chair and sat after she had.

"Thank you for the drink, Sire."

"Beautiful blonde hair like that, it's the least I can do." He assured her before checking up on Marian. He fell back to the gravity of his table and noticed her green eyes twinkle beside candles as she took a guilty sip of alcohol. She really was genuinely gorgeous – small and feminine, wavy blonde locks, rosy cheeks and shy submissive attitude. This he could work with. Marian would be eaten alive by the cancer of jealousy by the end of the night, he imagined. The Lady Knighton approached moments later.

"Guy, good to see you."

"Marian." Gisborne made sure to sound uninterested in her greeting.

"I don't believe we have met," she moved on politely, "my name is Marian."

"Good evening, Lady Marian," the server chirped, "I'm Lucille. Well, Lucy."

"My absolute pleasure to meet you." The brunette warmly added before smiling to Guy and leaving. He made sure to watch her go with intensity counting down the seconds until she turned back to him. Sure enough, she gave another glance to his blonde companion.

"So you work in a tavern near here?" Guy's baritone voice asked.

"Yes, The Maiden's Room. It's down by –"

"Yes, I know it."

"Lovely… maybe I'll see you in there one day." Lucy flirtatiously smiled, holding the butterflies down in her stomach as he gave her another handsome look.

"I think you're gonna have to." Guy took another drink of mead as he watched Marian's discomfort grow. Perhaps his plan could work after all.


	2. Accompany Me On a Walk?

This Tuesday afternoon was crisp with a chilled air of autumn as breezes flowed around Nottingham. Leaves had been changing for a few weeks now around the county and the local people had begun stepping out with shawls and coats for their activities. Guy, of course, was not worried about the weather. He made sure his leather jacket made him immune to the most poisonous blows from foes and females alike; a wind was not likely to faze him. Ever since the weekend he had bubbled with the joy of Marian's sourness at seeing the bartender by his side. Perhaps it was not the most righteous thing to be proud of, but he wasn't a man of morals. Gisborne slipped between families and groups of friends, beggars and workers, and eventually arrived at the east side of town to find the tavern he was hunting for.

Guy drug his heavy black boots into the doorway of The Maiden's Room to be greeted by the most useless folk in town. On a Tuesday afternoon, most people were toiling away to earn enough pence to drink. These men, though, were the ones who were too old to do much more than drink and get rowdy. He was greeted by a girl with raven hair behind the bar but did not bother answering her; he ignored everything in the pursuit of blonde headed Lucy. Eventually Gisborne found her towards the end of the tavern serving a table of burly men who clearly had no intention of slowing down their alcohol intake. Mug after mug must have gone down based on the smell alone, but also their snarky attitudes. He sneered as he approached and overheard their conversation.

"Baby, you are a life saver." One guy laughed as he took a cup from her hand and shoved his empty one towards here, skittering it across the wood table.

"Anything for you guys." Lucy stated with transparency; within seconds anyone could tell she was fatigued and disinterested in all the male attention.

"Well, you know what I could use with my drink," another disruptive party member chipped in as he wrapped his arm around her waist. She added a false smile then turned to leave, but he was not ready to let her go. The man pulled her in tight next to him and slid his hand down to where he had a firm grip of her bottom. In this moment Gisborne pounced. He slipped on his trademark scowl and stormed up, holding Lucy by the shoulders and tugging her away from the groping customer.

"The lady isn't interested." he bitterly spat. Order was restored as the glint of Gisborne's dagger reflected on his frown. Knowing the man in leather was around would put anyone on their best behavior – even brawlers. It was not unheard of to lose tongues in the dungeons, after all. Each heart skipped a beat at the thought of offending Gisborne or his property. Guy followed Lucy to an empty table and instantly flipped a switch inside his brain, turning on charm, shooting out endorphins. Instantly he transformed into the sly man from Saturday evening.

"Thank you." She sincerely said as she looked up into his eyes. Guy shook his head as if it was nothing and leaned onto the table so that he was over her by a hair, bringing up nerves in Lucy's stomach that went wild with his charisma.

"I thought you may like to accompany me on a walk." Gisborne grinned. She darted her look to the boss behind the counter who was frozen. Naturally she was petrified to let Lucy go with Gisborne, after all Nottingham castle is not known for hospitality. Yet an itching reminder crawled up the bar owner's back that she could not risk trouble herself. In moments Lucy was wrapped up in her ruby shawl and out the door, filling her lungs with coolness and brushing wind tossed hair back behind her ears. Golden waves reached halfway down her back and constantly swept into her eyes as she followed Guy along dusty streets. After several minutes of small talk they arrived back at the castle where Gisborne planned to display her. The guards instantly recognized his face and drew open the gate for their leader; of course they also neglected to ask questions about his guest. Guy made sure to gently lay his hand on Lucy's back as he led her down the stone hallways towards the gardens.

"I have heard they're just exquisite," Lucy beamed as she looked up to the man in black, "lots of lavender. I love lavender… it's how I imagine France looking. I know that sounds odd."

"The fields smell of lavender and chamomile up north," Guy fondly recalled, "my family was from there originally."

"So Gisborne is French?

"'Tis."

"Here and all I can discuss is boring old Kent."

"Oh, I don't know, I imagine you have a few stories about… cows." Guy chuckled as she swatted his forearm lightly. They approached the garden in the rear of the castle where hedges lined ornate shapes and flowers of every color burst in the sunlight. Birds swooped through and made homes while butterflies fluttered to and fro. Tall lavender swayed beside lilies and fluffy English roses along the wall. Lucy filled her lungs with the sweet air and mentally drew the image of peace into her memory. She took a step ahead of Guy and watched in awe how each stalk moved in the wind. At the end of the path lie a nectarine tree who drooped with long deep leaves, holding its branches over a metalwork bench as its final fruit of the year hung low. Gisborne motioned to it.

"Would you like to sit?"

"Thank you," She grinned and daintily perched on the bench, "Excuse my being forward, but I always imagined tax collectors as boring. Or at least with awful moustaches."

"Well I hope you can find a way to think more of me than that," Guy flirted as he moved his knee to touch hers.

"It helps that you don't have a moustache." Lucy giggled. Her emerald eyes were filled with joy but her lips pursed as if she was too shy to laugh; Guy was impressed. He had grown so accustomed to Marian's fire and independence that he forgot how beautiful he found a submissive woman. Marian could never be a housewife, but perhaps Lucy… He caught himself smiling at her for no reason before wrapping himself up in the moment again.

"So, Sir Guy, to what do I owe the pleasure of getting to know you?"

"Every man could use the company of a gorgeous woman." He admitted before noticing movement in the corner of his eye. Nonchalantly he glanced up to the outdoor hallways and noticed none other but Marian. He was momentarily startled to see her, then a wave of embarrassment met his nerves. She was going to see him with Lucy. But wait – wasn't that the point? Pride crept in and took hold of his heart as he shot a sly smile towards the brunette onlooker. Guy took the opportunity to place his arm around his date's shoulders and lean in to speak with her, almost as if the garden were their own enchanted forest, one that could never include his former flame.

"Thank you, I – I'm sorry," Lucy bashfully glanced down to her hands that lay intertwined on her lap, "I don't quite know what to say. I'm a bit humiliated to have such a schoolgirl crush." She heard herself nervously laugh as the words kept coming out unfiltered. Why could she not stop talking? No man has a hunger to marry a woman with such childish behavior. Gisborne noticed her smooth alabaster skin become dotted with blush rose that tinted her nose and cheeks as autumn streamed over the grounds and grabbed at her flesh. He cupped her youthful hands into his and blew a warm breath onto them to keep her comfortable.

In this instant, Maid Marian did not exist. Her name had never happened in this realm of time to Sir Guy. Her round face was but a memory that had faded with the seasons, drifted off into the ocean perhaps, but she certainly was not only yards away. As his firm hands held onto Lucy's he had no concern who did or did not see them in their garden of Eden. Lucy allowed herself to slide closer into Gisborne as he kissed the tops of both of her hands, never taking his gaze off of her young visage.

Marian did not feel the cold. Hot blood clawed its way through her arteries and scratched all through her body, bombarding her flesh with endorphins and hatred. She popped her knuckles and hurriedly hit her fist into her palm, steaming her way into her chambers and away from the humiliation of the outdoors. Once inside, emotions abducted her body and threw a pillow to the ground before Marian curled onto the bed and cried hot, sudden tears. She was so confused but too shattered to even figure out why the cavity in her chest burned with pain. She needed to see Robin, that much was certain.


	3. You're Rather Special to Me

That evening Guy dined alone in the hall, pouring over stiffened scrolls and sketched maps that his boss could not be bothered to organize. His bread and rabbit sat heavily seasoned and only lightly picked at as he scanned through law after law, skirmish after skirmish, and construction after construction. His eyes sat weary and swollen inside of his head cradled softly by crow's feet that stood out in the candlelight. The wax had melted the candles to half their height by the time he swept his work to the side to finish his meal. At this time there was little bustling around in the castle; most of the chambermaids and kitchen crew had tidied their stations and now only guards patrolled the premises.

Up the stairs entered Marian, her fingers mildly trembling as she descended into the mail hall. Her sage shaded dress brushed along the floorboards as she came down and lent a smile to Gisborne, the light sound of shuffling as her soft shoes transitioned to stone. He slowly chewed the game in his mouth before pushing the plate away and resting his elbows on the table to lean towards her. His eyebrows raised in a silent question of what she wanted.

"Good evening, Guy," she smiled calmly, "I just wanted to check on you. I know Rebecca already left, so if you need more water… or anything. I'm here."

"I'm fine." He replied with a soothing tone.

"Ok, well I just wanted to help you," she gingerly tapped her fingers to the thick table, "I know it usually doesn't seem like it, but I enjoy helping you." Marian's lips tightened as a blush came to her. She itched inside of her ribs as she put on an act of humility, but he was eating it up faster than he had his supper. Gisborne rose and crossed to her side of the table, standing only a couple of inches taller than her, and folded his arms. His smile was hinting at wicked as he got closer.

"You're being very kind, Marian." Guy slacked his jaw to the side and playfully acted surprised at her sweetness.

"Perhaps I feel bad about how I treated you at the party the other night…" She glanced away for a moment and shrugged, picking at the lush fabric of her dress with nervous fingers. He let out a long exhale through his nose and carefully took her fidgeting hand into his.

"I will always forgive you." He whispered to her like a secret between them. As Marian perked up Gisborne brushed the back of his hand to her cheek and brought himself to her. His lips rested softly onto hers as he kissed her, holding tight to her hand, and waited the few seconds it took for her to respond and open her mouth to where his lips fit between hers. She tasted like her name, the sweetness it had each time he spoke it. After a several moments she pulled back and touched his chest with a grin.

"I do believe it's my curfew." Marian beamed with giddiness. Guy said nothing as she turned and departed for the night. He ran his fingers through his hair with the smug prediction that he would get little sleep due to how brilliant he had been in his cunning.

The following day was brutal; wind howled and pounded against paper thin windows all across town as a frosty air bit into the skin. Winter was quickly approaching, and she did not seem to have an intention for mercy this year. Gisborne wrapped his cloak on tighter as he cursed the chance that freezing rain may bombard his team as they worked. He felt stranded in the cold although they had never left town. To keep warm he consistently barked orders to soldiers who were pasting together part of the protective wall around the town; why Vaisey thought he was needed to watch masons repair some stone he didn't understand. Perhaps the Sherriff just wanted him to freeze…

Townsfolk remained indoors as much as possible and ran between buildings otherwise. He could see several peasants clustered around the communal oven for warmth down the block and was slightly jealous of their fire.

"Guy?" He heard a woman call and spun around. Up came Lucy bundled to her chin in a thick cranberry shawl and matching gloves, a large mug in hand, and a frostbitten smile on her face. Her shoulders were hunched forward and her pale skin was stretched tight in goosebumps for warmth, but she did not let her face show if she was uncomfortable.

"Lucy, what are you doing here?" He inquired while looking back to his labor force. Seeing her reminded him of Marian's kiss and tender hands; she reminded him of how he had won in his scheme.

"I noticed you out here earlier and thought, well, I made you some stew to keep you warm." She handed over the large carved horn mug, trying to keep as much of her arm inside the cover as possible. Gisborne looked down to the mix she brought. Stew was peasant food. Potatoes were peasant food. And yet it smelled amazing and still at least room temperature.

"You made this… for me?" His expression was plastered in confusion and he did not touch the cup. She looked down into it and wondered what she had done wrong.

"I just thought you would be cold, is all." She muttered shyly, taking it back, but Guy placed his hand around the cup.

"That is incredibly sweet of you."

"I wanted to do something for a sweet man," she bit her lip, "and I hated thinking you would be making yourself sick out here just to help the city." Lucy let go as he took hold of the mug and took a sip. His stomach resented the idea of having a low class meal; the stigma of it stung. He hadn't had stew since his childhood. Yet the lukewarm broth of lamb and potatoes soothed the ice in his throat.

"This is wonderful." Guy grinned.

"Oh, thank you! You don't have to lie, but thank you."

"No, really, it's fantastic… Thank you." Gisborne let his stare go over her and look for… for what? Part of him wanted to find some underlying plot that required her to be nice, or maybe some wickedness that revealed she was poisoning him. He shook his head and realized his nonsense. Lucy stood up to only his chin, shivering, with only adoration in her bright eyes. Only aiming to please; to please him. Her desire to satisfy only Gisborne turned him on. "Forgive me," he muttered, "I don't receive gifts often."

"How sad. I may have to make a habit of it." Lucy chuckled. He place a hand on the back of her head to stroke her blonde hair but felt nothing through his winter gloves.

"Why would you be so nice to me?" He questioned with tenderness. She immediately looked to the cold cobblestone ground and ignited red, biting her lip, answering with no words. Lucy looked back up into his vibrant blue eyes and held her tongue to swallow back down her childish confessions of admiration.

"You're rather special to me." She eventually answered to his unwaivered stare. A hardness in his chest wanted to tell her that she was special, too. But, of course, vanity filtered all of his words. Guy moved his hand along her prominently round cheek down to her chin and brushed his thumb along her lips. Would Marian do anything like this? Well, maybe. She was known to have kindness… when it suited her. Maybe she would if she needed a favor. Or was he being too judgmental?

"I have work to tend to." Gisborne mechanically answered. He felt the words vomit up by a natural instinct to push away these emotions, distance himself from compassion.

"No, of course, I'm sorry I kept you." Lucy began to depart when he reached for her hand.

"I will come to your tavern tonight… to see you." Guy gave a schoolboy's smile.

For the rest of the afternoon he fantasized about his meeting Lucy, imagining they would sit at a private table in the back, whispering and laughing, drinking and flirting. And that's exactly what they did until the sun trickled down below the horizon, and he could not have been happier.


	4. What a Lucky Man He Was

Several months had allowed frigid air deeper and deeper into England's heart and, eventually, Christmas came and went. Apples and holly had adorned Nottingham as frost crisped the dirt and snow created a frozen Britain. This year was, with no doubt, the coldest in a decade. Gisborne found himself scurrying through town at least once a week doting both of his women with gifts and flirts and only confusing himself more. Around the castle he would joke with Maid Marian and share meals with her, yet out on the town he would take Lucy shopping and adorn her with nicer clothes. Guy was rather proud of himself for managing to juggle two women; in the words of his superior, one leper was more than enough. But every touch Marian gave him fulfilled the thirst he has suffered for years. And each time Lucy fluttered her eyes in adoration he melted.

They both had perks, but he knew he must choose. Or must he? Marian finally desired his attention and Lucy served him with little maintenance like a wife. It surely didn't hurt that Lucy was half his age, but Marian was what he had reached for each sleepless night he had. Perhaps they were two halves that completed what he needed…

Guy looked back across the table and smiled at Marian, who was wiping the breadcrumbs from her fingers. She gave him a flirty glance and gently rested her hand on his.

"I am so glad I got to share breakfast with you."

"Absolutely." He took her hand of and kissed her knuckles before tossing his napkin onto the table.

"Must you really go today?"

"Yes, Marian, I told you. I have business in Locksley."

"It is not tax day."

"It is business." He sharply quipped back to her. Marian chewed on the inside of her cheek as she struggled to be quiet. Her terms with Guy were still shaky but improving, but she did not want to risk chasing him off. Not until she knew he was hers and only hers. It had been a month or two since she had seen Guy with another woman but it still made her sick to imagine she could drive him to someone else, especially if he considered their relationship exclusive. Marian begrudgingly nodded.

"Have a safe ride." She quietly told him. After kissing her forehead Guy was gone. He paced out of the stone fortress quickly to the stables, upping his heart rate, hoping he could get into town and head to Locksley by sundown. Gisborne spoke neither to the stableboy nor the stallion as he withdrew his horse and charged out of the draw gate. The dark stallion clopped his solid feet to the cold ground as he trotted through the lanes of the city, piercing the quiet of the late morning. After turning yet another corner he slowed the steed to a halt as he approached the house. Before he could finish dismounting Lucy excitedly burst out of the door and shut it behind her, still wrapping her coat over her royal blue dress. Guy dripped confidence as he stepped up to the porch and kissed her youthful lips. He felt a shiver crawl under his leather when she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again; he was reluctant to admit it was not from the weather.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to spend Christmas with you." He told her as the stood together still, his posture a bit stooped to be down to her height.

"You're an important man, I know you had affairs up at the castle."

"Yes, well, tonight is our chance to have our own holiday." He smiled before bringing her to get up on the horse's back. There was no need or reason, in his opinion, to mention he spent the actual Christmas day with Marian by the fire in the fortress. It was, after all, not Lucy's business.

The couple pounded down frosty earth through the woods and kicked up puffs of light ice as they rode into the village town of Locksley. They were for the most part silent for the lengthy trip, simply enjoying the contact as she held onto his body tightly, his nerves fizzing at each bump when he could feel her breasts press against him. Five o'clock had arrived when they did. The people were just now going inside their homes to begin their own suppers, some women picking vegetables from the side of the house and others queuing up to use the communal oven. Though they attempted stealth and sneaky looks, it was quite apparent they stared at Gisborne and his lady.

Lucy had never been to this satellite town and was drinking in the view of tall grasses and shady trees cradling the huts. She watched the goats and pigs as they huddled for body heat in pens and nosily looked behind them at the local church and pond. She was most astonished, though, once they reached the end of the dirt and approached Sir Guy of Gisborne's manor. It was two-story and painted cream, the decorative stained wood standing proudly against the walls. Flowers brushed the borders and expensive glass paned the windows. The property held its own stable where they got off, but she hardly noticed the staff there. Her eyes were glued to the glamor his title held and oh how he noticed. Gisborne felt a giddiness dance inside of him as she stood awed at his second home, neck extended high, not even disguising how impressed she seemed. He felt clothed in distinguished glory as he led her inside by the hand. It had been so long since someone had recognized his prolific success and he could not stop selfishly drinking her wonder. Marian, he sneered, certainly didn't care about his honors.

"You're home is simply…" She sighed and searched for the word.

"Thank you." Guy said without a humble attitude. Out from the kitchen popped a plump woman clothed in an apron.

"My lord, supper is ready for you if you would like it." She nervously offered. His temperament was so unpredictable in the privacy of his own home. Guy looked to Lucy for her answer.

"I would be happy to take supper now, but really it's up to you."

"Anything you want, Lucy." he smiled and turned to nod at the cook. Staff appeared from the woodworks and seated them at the round table, filling wine goblets, lighting candles. In moments a roasted boar made its way to the table with leeks and cheese on boards. Gisborne's organs were bursting with pride as he observed her eyes grow ever wider. She had the face of a child. He also seemed to notice a kick he got from making her happy, knowing he was responsible for her pleasure. It was strange, to say the least. As she finished a quiet prayer Guy handed her a fork and knife alongside her plate. The noble did not hesitate to begin his meal after cleansing his hands in the water bowl. Lucy, however, stared empty at her plate for several moments.

"Is it not to your liking?"

"Hm? Oh, I apologize, Guy. I'm sure it's perfect. I just have never had boar so I'm a bit… I don't know." She laughed as she lifted her knife. Only nobles in England had the right to hunt game in the woods, he remembered, so of course it would be shell shocking.

"Do you enjoy spicy food?"

"Spicy?"

"The spices from the Holy Land, the burning flavor."

"Oh, um. I don't know. I've never been able to afford it." Lucy blushed. Her date motioned to the meat.

"Go on, then." He grinned excitedly. Delicately Lucy cut a portion of boar off of her plate and gingerly ate it. For a second she felt nothing, and then it danced across her tongue. Small pockets of spice popped and sizzled; she slapped a palm to her mouth and let out a small squeak. They both laughed and had a sip of alcohol.

"That is quite odd." Lucy giggled.

"But good?"

"Exquisite," was the answer. Several more bites into the meal she added, "You spoil me, Sir Guy."

"You are fun to spoil; I enjoy watching you have fun."

"I have a lot of fun with you." She flashed a cute smile that warmed him more than the fireplace across the room. What a lucky man he was, he thought, to have two great meals with two great women in one day.


	5. A Slippery Slope

*** Note that the story was rated M in reference to language/elements of sexuality. This chapter will fall in that category, just a heads up. Thanks for reading and please don't forget to review!***

Darkness ribboned itself around little Locksley as it gobbled up sunlight and birthed shimmering stars in the distance. Stars were difficult to see, though, as puffs of heavy snow trickled down fast over the unsuspecting north. Small banks of it had suctioned together over the roads as the temperature fell faster and faster. Guy used haste to buckle together his stallion's saddle before mounting with Lucy.

"Are you sure we can make it to Nottingham in this?" She asked yet again.

"Of course I can." Gisborne gloated as he clicked the horse to begin. He could feel the blonde shivering as she clutched tightly to his back on the travel, her warm breath floating into a fog as her cheek rested against his shoulder. With a degree of cunning Guy laced from village to village as opposed to taking the forest – he could not afford to lose his bearings in there. Nettlestone passed in a blur of white flurry as the storm picked up. Lucy watched the river run under a sheet of ice as they banged over a bridge, her fingers aching with the cold. Guy seemed totally unfazed, though, so she was not about to complain.

As they reached Clun the storm became unbearable, the sleet stung into Gisborne's eyes as he tried to steer, the frosty earth giving the horse panic as his feet scrambled to stay planted. Guy knew he was still at least an hour away from the castle and grew abrasively frustrated by feeling too inadequate to get home. He felt painfully aware that Lucy may be unimpressed if he could not make it. But, nonetheless, the horse could not travel safely anymore. Begrudgingly he pulled off to a lantern lit inn on the outskirts of the town. He unpacked a blanket to drape on the animal after tying it up while Lucy breathed into her red hands on the porch, then they went inside, dripping with melting snow from their clothes.

"We need two rooms." He flatly claimed, reaching for his bag of crowns from his belt.

"Sir Guy, I apologize, but there is only one left." The scrawny boy behind the counter muttered with cowardice. He nearly winced at Gisborne's glare.

"How do you expect us to stay in one room?"

"It's all I have, sire, I'm so sorry." He assured as he announced their room number was eight. Guy opened his mouth to provoke the argument, but Lucy wrapped herself onto his arm and begged him to take her there. He looked over to her freezing body and scoffed to the attendant before going up the squeaking wooden stairs. He read off the numbers that were carved into the doors aloud then stumbled upon his own. Like a gentleman he opened the door to allow Lucy in before him, then shut it behind them. Pieces of ice popped against the windows as wind rustled the straw roof above. By the orange haze of candlelight Guy took one of the two pillows from the bed and dropped it to the floor. He removed his coat as Lucy sat on the bed, then laid it down for his blanket through the night.

"Surely you can't sleep on the floor." She challenged.

"It's a small bed, I don't want to… make you uncomfortable." He answered, watching her unclip her shawl and open up her pale creamy neck. She pursed her lips, knowing they could not sleep next to each other for the sake of dignity, but she certainly was not going to take to the floorboards. With a thin layer of shame Lucy cocooned herself into the woolen blankets of the bed. Gisborne blew out the candle and nestled down to the floor just below his lover, covering his chest with his jacket and struggling to find vague comfort on the splinters. Whistles of wind slithered through the window all night, bashing relentlessly against the inn until sunrise. As the clouds rolled over the sky only snippets of light wandered into the rented room as morning came. Lucy groggily crept her green eyes open to see the light, noticing sheets of snow still rapping against the glass. As she moved in the bed Guy looked up, catching her gaze, as he lie still on his back. Needless to say, he had gotten no peace or slumber. It was obvious in his tired eyes as she reached down a hand to brush some hair from his face.

"Guy, come lay down," She pleaded with a lump in her throat. He watched as she shook her head, "I don't mean… anything else. But you cannot be warm down there." She was right. It was damn cold, and hard, and unwelcoming. After great hesitation he rose and wandered to the opposite side of the bed. Slowly he crawled onto the feather mattress and took rest on the edge of the bed, however, it was clearly intended for one body at a time. No matter how they lay, their warm bodies touched. Lucy rolled so that they were back to back and began to slip away into the hold of sleep again. Gisborne felt himself slide there, too, with the pitter patter of sleet slowing down. In the fuzzy limbo of fatigue Guy flipped to his other side, unintentionally draping his arm over her waist. He froze, but did not hear disagreement. He slid the crook of his arm around the narrowest part of her body and held her tight to his chest. He could sense her breathing in his own chest and felt her tingling smile that matched his. The both slept some more in this warm position.

Gisborne was later awoken by Lucy readjusting herself on the flimsy bed. She burrowed herself against his chest as Guy planted a kiss on her neck. And then another. He stroked through her light wavy hair and exposed her neck, kissing it more and more until she couldn't quit giggling. His hand moved slowly along her stomach as he nuzzled into her and kissed the back of her ear. Guy scratched his beard along her soft and fragrant hair as she reached behind her, grabbing his shoulder, laughing.

"Would you stop?"

"Oh, come now, you don't really want me to stop." He whispered to her as he kissed her neck more, dragging his hand down to her thigh. He could feel her muscles tense up at his touch and he loved it. Guy snaked his way back up her body to her chest, the chest he had fantasized about for weeks. He craved to know what she looked like.

"Guy, really." She softly muttered while shifting her weight. Her laughing had ceased. He tenderly shushed her and swept through her hair again, reaching her shoulder and gingerly rolling her onto her back as he sat up. Leaning over, he her kissed her lips with a romantic passion that led her to intertwine her fingers in his thick hair. As he pulled back, Gisborne put on a mask of excitement.

"You can't say you don't want to enjoy this."

"I don't want to sin. I don't want us to… I don't want to ruin this." Her eyes shone with emeralds and nervousness. Gisborne smiled and drug his beard across her cheek.

"You know what I want, Lucy? I want to make you happy," he kissed her lips and went back down to her neck as his fingers taunted the buttons on her gown, "I want to make you feel good in a way you didn't even know about." His hot breath covered her skin as he worked more clothes off of it. She anxiously chuckled as he slipped her blue dress off and onto the floor. The white undergown that stood between the two of them was thin and warm from the heat of her tingling body. Gisborne sat up and removed his shirt as Lucy looked back out the window. Carefully he sat himself between her legs, running his fingers up her supple thighs, swallowing down his impatience. He chose to ignore her eyes as his hands slid to her hips, his kisses on her neck growing more and more hungry. She held her hands on his back as Guy slipped each sleeve of her undergown off her slender shoulders. As she looked up at him he saw her desire, her pure desire, and it was that of only pleasing him. She bit her lip in shyness as he opened up the blouse to show her breasts. Perfectly round, warm, exactly what he wanted. He kissed her again.

"Guy," she whispered, "I love you." She stroked his face and relaxed her body as he took in a deep breath. For the first time all morning Guy focused on her, not her shape, not her touch, not her allure, but her. He blinked a couple of times and licked his lips to answer.

Suddenly a bombardment of pounding came to their door, followed swiftly by it being swung open. Lucy shrieked as two armored guards swooped into the room, their metal glinting in the sun. Out of combat instinct Gisborne had stood in the blink of an eye. Astonishment and anger were pasted to his face.

"My lord, my lady." One of them began. He averted him gaze from the horrified half-naked woman; the other man did not.

"What in hell are you doing?" Gisborne barked into the guard's face. Veins in his neck were bulging with wrath.

"The lord Sherriff sent us knowing you didn't return… I see why." He was magnetically drawn to the shape of Lucy hiding under the covers. Guy grabbed his face with one hand and pressed their noses together.

"How damn dare you come in here!"

"My lord, please, we are here with a cart to escort you, please. I mean no harm."

"You will be handled in Nottingham." Gisborne spat before they exited to the carriage, awaiting the couple. In the remaining silence he could hear Lucy's quiet tears underneath the wool blanket. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled it down to her waist, panicking her more. She folded her arms over her small breasts and rolled away from him, face in the pillow.

"Don't look at me! I'm naked."

"I've seen you naked," He bluntly responded, "You're gorgeous naked."

"No, Guy, it's wrong. It's wrong, it's so wrong, please. Just let me get dressed." After a moment he complied and stood, sliding into his own shirt and taking his jacket with him into the hall. As the door clicked shut Lucy wiped burning tears from her eyes and scrambled for her dress on the ground. Her hands trembled and drunkenly assembled the buttons of her collar, then moved on to haphazardly applying her shawl and coat. Even with all of this she still felt nude, unable to ever cover herself again. Lucy watched her reflection in the mirror as she cried. She wanted Gisborne, needed him in her heart, and all she wanted was to make him happy. But at what cost did it come? She was ashamed. She was going to hell. And what if she was too easy? Perhaps he had only spoken to her for four months for this moment in bed – was he done with her now? Maybe she should have said no, but then would he despise her and spit upon her denying his requests? A good woman, after all, does what a man tells her. She went down on her knees in front of the window praying, begging, repeating the Lord's prayer for forgiveness. As her tears subsided she saw Guy emerge downstairs into the powdery street. He may have seen her, but at least, she thought to herself, he did not have her virginity.


	6. How Dare You?

Marian paced the hall again, aiming directly for Guy's chambers. This would be the second day in a row she would stalk his quarters to see him. Ever since he went to Locksley she had not seen much of him but for meals, and even then he pulled away from her advances. Ironic, she thought, that he would deny her a kiss after all these years. She feared he was unwell, or perhaps unhappy with her over something. After multiple knocks still no answer came to his door. Frustrated, she wandered back downstairs. Where could he be?

She grabbed tightly to her folded arms as she went out to pass through the garden. No Gisborne, only starving birds pecking at ice for seeds. She overpassed the dungeon; no matter how much a woman loves a man, she can never want to see him commit torture or murder. The armory? Marian swept into the chamber of halberds and shields, scanning each shining knight to no avail. She touched the arm of the closest worker.

"Have you seen Sir Guy?"

"He is in counsel with the Sherriff, my lady." He replied while sheathing his broadsword.

"All day?"

"Planning security measures for the party of the new year."

"Ah, yes… thank you." She graciously said before leaving. Her lips puckered in disapproval as she coursed back down the hall. Times like this she especially despised her house arrest to these walls. She needed to ride her mare, go shopping, do something. All the stone made her constantly paranoid and lent only the feeling of captivity like an animal. Marian drew in a breath and reclaimed her posture. Why was she so nervous? There was nothing but a rumbling in her gut to make her so on edge. Unfortunately, it was not a topic she felt like discussing with Robin of Locksley. Marian ended up back at the gardens in the crisp air when she was coming up to a guard whose arms were stuffed with an absurdly large bouquet of lavender and flowers.

"Those are beautiful!"

"They are a delivery from Gisborne, my lady."

"For me?" She beamed with giddiness.

"No, sorry my lady. For the girl in east Nottingham."

"Girl?" Her eyebrows shot up as she exclaimed. Instantly her face was recomposed.

"Yeah, you know the one, blonde. They go to his manor in Locksley."

"Oh, her," Mariran sighed with feigned happiness as she felt the pain of her ribs thrusting into her lungs, "I was going over to see her later. Good friends… I'm how they met, in fact. Let me take those for you."

Sorry ma'am, I can't –"

"No really," She grabbed them from his arm and gripped them tightly, "I insist." With that she left, waiting to stamp her feet until she had cleared the corner. Marian charged as fast as she could out the door to the garden and got herself alone at the outside wall. Tears boiled up and out of her eyelids as oxygen quit supplying her blood. Her skin itched with hate and loathing for Gisborne and herself. Why did she let him play with her mind?

Marian swung the bouquet wildly against the worn brick, letting out animal like moans and gasps, bashing the petals to the stone and snapping the stalks. Leaves created a swarming cloud over her as she beat the bunch harder and harder. The fresh smell of lilac attacked her senses and, for whatever reason, made her angrier. Eventually she was left with a nub of only enough greenery to fit in her hand; she took this bit and threw it into the shrubbery. Frigid wind was already sweeping up her mess as Marian stormed back indoors, her scalp burning her alive, her plotting already in the works.

Lucy, too was drowning in her own tears that day. Over a week had blown through England since the incident occurred in Clun and there had been no word from Gisborne. Not a single note, nor token, nor visit, nor glance through a window. Her fear had come true: she handed him what he wanted and had been abandoned. She dared not speak to her brother, boss, or priest over the matter. What would they think of her? The same thing she thought of herself. How could Lucy have gotten so wrapped up in him? She woke to realize all the nasty gossip about him was true. But that smile and the sweet nothings he would whisper to her… it was all gone. Here and she shamed herself to satisfy him for nothing. Her only saving grace was that he did no more than look at her naked skin. Lucy guzzled the last of her third cup of wine and brooded out the window of her hovel again. Down the lane she could hear faint snapping and clanking. She peered around to notice the castle guards practicing their march in unison as they did every few weeks. She nearly choked on herself when she saw Gisborne snarling out the orders, his eyes bright blue and shameless. He exuded authority and stood tall, his title gleaming across his chest. She hated watching what had once made her melt over him. In a rash decision she leapt up and raced out the door.

Gisborne glared into the feet of his soldiers, their motions in time like mechanics. He was not content, though, until even the reflection off the metal was cohesive. It took every day and moment of his training in the army to resist his temptation to look down the street; look down to where Lucy lived. Earlier today she will have received the flowers and letter. He was a bit saddened to know he was not there to see her unwrap the necklace he sent over with a maid a few days ago, either, but he wanted nothing more than to burst through her door and see her wearing it.

It was impossible to stop the recording in his head of her sweet lips saying she loved him. She _loved_ him. He spent his nights racking his brain and beating his memory to think of a time he had heard that since his mother died, and he consistently came up short. When he heard her voice call out his name he brushed it off as hopeful wishing, but when he came again he turned to see her. The petite girl hurried up to her with a goblet in hand. It reminded him of those months ago when she approached him with stew, with kindness, with sincerity; he soon realized this was not the same, however, when she doused him in wine from the cup. It splashed up with violence as her eyes scowled wildly. The knights broke off formation to pull her away. They could not grab her, though, before she landed a sharp strike across his cheek with her hand. The sound of the slap rang off the walls of the buildings nearby. Guy took a moment, disoriented, as guards held her tightly like a criminal.

"You are a pig," she spat, "A Godless pig!" Gisborne shoved his face into hers with betrayal deeply carved into his eyes. He could think of no words. "How dare you do this to me, Guy, how dare you use me like that?" Lucy began to cry as she screamed. Guy swiftly smacked her across the jaw and grabbed her face between his hands.

"If you are going to act like a bitch and a criminal that is how you will be treated."

"I hate you, Guy of Gisborne." She whispered back. He pulled back and snapped to the guards who did not hesitate to drag her off to the castle on his demand. The cold air stung his victim cheek, but he hardly noticed in comparison to the hemorrhaged bleeding of his soul and pride. She _hated_ him? Guy was ashamed that he was actually working to wrestle tears back down. What in hell had gotten into her? He did nothing wrong. Sure he never answered if he loved her or not, but weren't jewelry and flowers enough for a woman who had opened herself to him? Maybe he did too much to win her after that night in Clun; or perhaps too little. He kept a steady pace ahead of the security knights as he lead them back to Nottingham castle, running in his head at a mile an hour what he would do with Lucy when they got there.


	7. I Gave You Everything

Guy sat reclined in his chair, one ankle rested on his knee, and anxiously scratched at his stubble. In the middle of winter he cooked inside of his jacket waiting for her. He swept his chambers one more time to be sure everything was in its place; apparently every impression would now count. A knock came to his door before one guard entered, Lucy's arm tightly gripped. He practically shoved the young girl in there and then promptly left, not bothering to do anything about her handcuffs. There she stood, draped in red velvet, looking anywhere but into the eyes of the man across the room. Gisborne did not stand, nor did he speak. He waited. Lucy jerked a bit in the cuffs, the D-shaped iron rings digging into her tender flesh.

"What?" She eventually questioned him with the most ladylike tone possible for such a phrase.

"That's what I want to know," Guy stiffened his neck and rose, "What in hell is going through that pretty little head of yours." He approached her and she averted her green eyes to the fireplace. He waited several moments for the answer that did not come, so he continued, "I have given you everything –"

"I asked for nothing – "

"And still you were served on a golden platter!" He explained with wounded pride, "I did not give it to you because you begged. I did not buy you clothes and perfume because you asked. I did it because it made you happy, it made me happy. I did it because I lo – because for the first time in my life I really thought I had something." Guy swallowed down his words as he panicked; his mind was firing out each of his thoughts with no regard for self-preservation or secrets.

"I didn't realize affection meant pushing me to the side after you got to see me exposed."

"Sapphires mean nothing to you now?" he scoffed as he circled her, "Necklaces are worthless? I suppose flowers are a waste of time, too. Tell me, lady, what is a worthy gift to you after your martyrdom?"

"How dare you spout nonsense and make me the enemy?" her mouth began to quiver, "I would have taken a rock thrown at my window or even a wave in the streets, yet you give me nothing after begging me to give you everything."

"Nothing? I spent more than a pretty penny on all your gifts this week –"

"I received no gifts, why do you keep lying?"

"I sent you a necklace –"

"I have no bloody necklace, search my house if you must!" Lucy felt her patience slip away with her words. Silence pushed in between them.

"You really think I gave you nothing?" Guy nearly whimpered. His brain demanded there be vile rage and hostility for the apparent theft of his tokens, but he could not make his body feel anything more than a void. He took his bare hands and held and carefully cupped her face, gliding both of his fingers across her indulgently soft lips. His clear blue eyes were brought down to her level as he leaned to her short frame; they were laminated with forgiveness and sorrow.

"Guy…" She muttered. Lucy felt a hammer pound into her chest as her eyes could not pull away from his; inside sat only sincerity. She was horrendously embarrassed by her actions. Could he really have tried, was she wrong?

"Lucy, I know you told me… I've been wanting to say it too. I mean you –" He shut his mouth tight and looked down. Years of cementing in emotions kidnapped the words in his throat.

"Guy?" She asked for the rest of the sentence as he hurriedly removed her shackles. He gripped both of her hands and pulled them up to his mouth, planting a firm kiss to her skin.

"Lucy, I love you." He blurted out, staring into her with more passion than ever before. He did not bother to ask before kissing her lips and pulling her body to him. "Please tell me that you still need me." He begged.

"I still love you." She smiled, "I always will." Guy scooped her into his arms and twirled her in a circle, making her giggle like a child. Gisborne dropped her onto the bed and grinned down at her; he could see that he had put that smile on her. He crawled up beside Lucy and held her hand, burying his face in her golden waves. It was only a matter of time until the couple had become wrapped up in each other's arms. Before any thought or word Gisborne had found himself chewing and kissing her young neck yet again, following the marks from his last adventure there. Lucy ran her fingers down his back as he held her tighter and tighter to his body. He would not lose her again.

Lucy let out little laughs and sighs as Gisborne set her on top of his lap and snaked his hands over her breasts and down to her hips, pulling and desperately raising her heavy dress so that he could touch her smooth legs. She bit her lip as he pulled away his shirt and tore his belt off. His fingers nimbly unlaced the back of her dress and discarded it, holding tightly to her under her undergarments. Lucy fumbled to help him unbutton his trousers and abandon those on the floor as well. Their kisses harbored a starvation for the other; a longing for the affection and pleasure only their lover could give. Guy clawed at her underdress to remove it and eventually had her skin all to himself. She was like alabaster yet as soft as a rose against his rough, calloused palms. Her thighs were slender and her kisses intense. Gisborne sat up and flipped her onto her back, placing himself over her, his breath heavy and his desire no longer able to be restrained. He brushed away some blonde hair from Lucy's face before giving her a bright, hungry smile.

"Guy, I'm…" she sighed, "I'm a bit nervous."

"No, no," He shushed her soothingly, playing with strands of her hair with one hand, "Relax, my love."

"I guess I'm worried I don't know what to do." Lucy blushed, looking away shyly. Guy kissed her neck and softly whispered to her.

"Just lay here and relax, let me give you everything you ever wanted." He kissed her again and took her legs in his hands, slowly opening them so he could go in between. She felt his hips press into hers and gasped as she wrapped her ankles around his in the ecstasy.

Marian stormed through the castle with the words for Gisborne already on her tongue. One whole week he had avoided her and she had had enough. She was too furious to realize that she was, in fact, in the spot she had forced Guy into so many times. The bitterness, the lies, the avoidance; all things she was guilty of. And yet it was so different when she was the victim.

Breakfast without Guy she could tolerate. His busy schedule she could understand. But the flowers to women and the maid having a new sapphire necklace were it; Marian, the head of reason, had lost her cool. She didn't quite know what to do once she cornered him, maybe break something? Curse? That's what he would do. She had no plan beyond the accusations of cheating and shame, but she was sure it would come to her in the heat of the moment.

Her feet scuffed along the stone floor as she reached the top of the stairs and dashed down to Guy's chambers. With a final inhalation of courage she swung open the door and opened her mouth to yell, yet could find no words. As her jaw dropped Marian slapped both hands to her mouth and froze.

There he was on top of her, on top of whoever she was, their bodies laced together and clearly nude under the sheets. Marian felt her stomach kick and gag as she stared, unable to take her eyes off of the ankles on Guy's shoulders. The moans of pleasure burned into her memory as Marian silently cried. Gisborne leaned down to kiss his mistress again, this time lifting her slim body and setting her on top of him. Lady Knighton watched as her blonde hair swished along her spine. Her skinny frame, gold hair, it must be that same woman he tried to ship those flowers to. Without a sound Marian shut the door and collapsed in the hall. He gave her flowers, took holidays to Locksley, and even held her in his bed. She felt her hands violently tremble as she sniffed back a loss of control. At this rate, she feared, he would marry her.

That's when it clicked in her head. Guy of Gisborne may marry her someday, but on this day she was in his bed nonetheless. A wicked grin crept over Marian as she chuckled. How easy it would be to slander a whore, she thought. She stood herself up and pursed her lips with sweet satisfaction. Guy was untouchable by society; he could, and did, get away with anything, including murder. But what about some twenty year old who was now impure? Marian could easily get her thrown from the church, spat on by nobles, break her into the ground for using her body on Marian's love interest. Marian would not go down without a fight, this she vowed.

Guy took every one of Lucy's sweet little kisses with a grin. Out of breath and energy, she lied on Gisborne's bare chest and giggled with each snippet of charm he told to her. Sheets had been scattered about the mattress and dripped onto the floor. His warm hands cupped her bottom as she brushed through his deep black hair.

"You had fun?"

"Yes," she gave him a light laugh as he squeezed her jokingly.

"Did I give you all the pleasure you wanted?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?" his voice hardened slightly, fishing for the materials to boost his ego. Lucy did not answer immediately. Guy's eyelids narrowed as he felt frustration.

"You gave me more pleasure than I could have imagined." She said with a sultry tone. Guy closed his eyes and leaned back, taking a deep breath, restraining himself as he felt the desire to have her bubble up again.

"You're the best girl in the world." He whispered to her, petting her head.

"I love you, too, Guy."


	8. Mead, Then?

Mugs and silverware clinked and twinkled behind jeering laughter and minstrel tunes as the evening tolled on in the castle. Vaisey's party to celebrate the new year was with no doubt a success; he had notably more people from surrounding counties than he had for the Christmas bash. Good thing, too – it would make them easier to milk resources from when Prince John needed to reinforce his army. With a foul smile the Sherriff helped himself to another drink.

"You know I trust you." He mentioned before his next sip. Guy looked up from his own cup, wary of these words from his boss. The glue that tethered these men together was strong; they both felt a pang of starvation for authority and greed. They needed each other to climb on top of in the power struggle. More so, they needed each other for a sadistic form of a father and son's bond. However, this never included emotions. Guy stared without blinking.

"Sire…" he cautiously replied.

"I trust you, Gisborne. You have performed many, many duties better than I could have expected. You trained these men to become killing machines," he nodded to the pack of guards at the staircase, "And you've served great purpose to me in the Holy Lands. Prince John thinks more of you than possibly even me." Vaisey snickered coolly as Guy itched. Relentless praise was wildly uncomfortable from this wicked master of his.

"Thank you." He muttered into some wine.

"I trust you to make good decisions, Gisborne," his tone hardened, "I trust you to know the difference between necessity and convenience."

"Of course."

"I trust you, Gisborne, to choose for the sake of Prince John and the Black Knights. I trust you to lead England into a better tomorrow, our tomorrow," desperation crept in as his voice hushed, "I trust you to serve for your King and country, not for… lepers." Vasiey's eyes wandered to the upper level where Lucy entered timidly. It took one glance to see that her mind and her skin were not accustomed to a fine dress and banquet hall, much less unescorted. Guy followed his sight line and took in a small breath at seeing her; he had been anticipating her arrival all day, urgently hoping she would entertain his invitation. The man in black took another look at his boss before rising and heading to her. The Sherriff snatched his wrist and rose, coming as face to face as his stature allowed. "Do not let this kingdom burn for you sake or your petty distractions." Solemnly, and begrudgingly, Gisborne gave a curt nod before breaking off.

A perk came into Lucy's step as she pranced down the stairs to her awaiting beau, who could not mask his grin. She stretched her hands and he took them with no hesitation, helping her down the final steps, and kissing her forehead once she was in reach.

"You came."

"I did." She chirped.

"You're wearing the dress." He noted, leading her to cutely turn to the side and flutter her eyes with a giggle. The black velvet and lace of her gown flowed with her body as she finished modeling. A vain sense of pride slithered on Gisborne as he eyed her up and down again. He had won her, he had claimed her in his own castle, he had dominated her in his own bed, and he had dressed her in his signature color. He had, in fact, won everything.

"Would you mind a drink?" She politely asked, hinting that the lord should fetch it for her. His mouth slipped up in a half smile before spinning around to hunt down the bar.

"You've got to move much faster than that!" Robin of Locksley hissed as he tossed another sack of gold down the assembly line of outlaws. Will rolled his eyes and threw the bag to Much, who stumbled and fumbled it on to John, delaying the process.

"I'm trying!" Much defended. Robin grabbed up the last burlap mound of crowns and filed behind his friends back into the hall, ensuring he locked the door behind him. Marian gave him a warm smile as she finished her post of being on watch.

"Good find, Marian," Robin graciously said, "And Gisborne's personal stash no less."

"It all belongs to England." She snorted with hidden vengeance.

"Thank you."

"Robin, we have to go." Djaq butted in, her ears perked at the sound of partying nobles only a few corridors down. He nodded and kissed Marian's cheek before melting into the darkness and dissolving back into the night. Marian felt a bit of cleanness inside as she watched hundreds of Guy's dollars disappear; a lightness in her chest that had been weighed down for so long. She flipped some chestnut hair back over her shoulder and sauntered back to the festivities, only to run into the victim she had just robbed.

"Guy!" Delight laced her voice as his shoulders tensed. He had just reached for two goblets on top of the bar, but his hands shrank back at her presence. He glanced to her and flickered his eyes back to the party, then to her. He appeared, dare she say it, nervous.

"Marian." He acknowledged her then reached out again, but as she touched his arm he jolted back. Gisborne felt himself wash over with shame; not for her name, but for the fact that he felt he had let himself down. This woman he bled for, fought over, agonized himself for was supposed to be his life, and he came very close to having her. But Marian was not what he needed. She was wine, milk, something great to drink. But to survive, he must have water, and Lucy was that water.

"It's a lovely party you've put together."

"It's the Sherriff's."

"Well it's just splendid, but there's something I just can't seem to get over here," She vaguely motioned behind her into the hall. Guy looked over to the flame drenched corridor and narrowed his glare on her, "The door to the balcony is jammed." Marian pleaded with her eyes as he sighed with a grumble and moved past her, making his way to the hall around the corner from the event.

Once they were out of sight she leaned close to him and smiled, naturally causing him to push back against the wall. She ran a hand over his face as he turned to go back, but the way she whispered his name made his knees uncontrollable. Gisborne looked back at her with uncertainty. She was inches taller than Lucy so he could feel her lips as she teased them along his chin; he closed his eyes and tried to focus himself on getting away, but it was difficult. Her perfume was stroking him and igniting every instance of his want for her over their history together.

"Marian –"

"I haven't seen you of late, Guy," she romantically said with a hush as she kissed him, "I miss you." Her lips pressed against his and, while he did not push her away, he did not part his mouth for hers.

"Marian, stop."

"I've been thinking about you."

"Stop."

"I feel so bad about the way I've treated you and I've learned. Guy, I'm sorry. I just want to make you happy." Marian sensually repeated what she imagined he want to hear. His chest swelled with air as Gisborne fell victim to her pleas. He found one hand on the small of her back and the other in her hair, his kisses on her passionate and fast. Their lips intertwined as he became more and more ravenous for her sweet taste. Guy pulled away and took a breath, glancing around the corner to see the party, to see Vaisey. His wise advice snaked into the hall: do not lose focus for women. He tingled as Marian kissed his neck before he tensed up and squeezed her arms to push her away.

Lucy glided past the doorway to their corridor with another girl, some waitress or another, her naïve mind completely unaware that his body was just around the corner, pressed hotly to Marian's. Sheer terror struck his heart as he looked back to the brunette in his arms. He tossed her to the side and got free as her back then went to the gray stone wall. Before reason set in he stepped forward and kissed her again, hands on her narrow waist, mouth doing the only thinking. After a moment he snapped off and stood back, getting as far to the other side as he could.

"No, Marian, no. I can't."

"We were going to get married, Guy."

"I still want that," he answered while breathing heavily," but not with you." Suddenly he dashed out of the hall, back into the mix of elites and performers, leaving her with her jaw open and knuckles wound tightly. Guy snatched the first drink he could find and pounded it down, trying to wash himself of Marian and obliterate his memory with alcohol. Gisborne found himself wandering next to his lover and quickly stuck himself beside her, clinging to her in his mind.

"Guy," Lucy smiled, "no drinks?" _Shit!_ He thought.

"I, uh, wasn't sure what you fancied." Gisborne lied with a panic.

"Oh, mead then?"

"Right." He nodded and split off to grab a hold of the alcohol; the only thing that could get him through this evening with any chance of sanity.


	9. Silly Boy

** Thank you for the reviews so far, make sure to keep them coming! **

Curls that had wandered out of the ruby pins in Lucy's hair bounced as she danced, her laughter infectious, her hands warm and soft. If not for fatigue, Guy could have danced with her all night. As the lute died down, he led her back to the side of the ballroom and fetched her a goblet. How she did not have a bead of sweat camping on her forehead he could not fathom; it was at this time he truly noticed their significant age difference.

"This is a magical night," Lucy beamed, "and the people are so great and interesting."

"Trust me, they really aren't." Gisborne scoffed. She playfully hit his chest as he griped about the local nobility, only mild exaggeration added in.

"Oh, come now, don't be so grumpy."

"I swear to you, Lucy, if I have to stand outside and stare at one more person's carriage being shown off I will be sick." He theatrically scowled and chuckled with her. He realized he had almost forgotten his infidelity with kissing Marian; well crap, never mind. Guy chewed on the inside of his cheek as he simmered over his flashback.

"Ah, Sir Guy," belted a tall, slender man sporting a goatee, "How are you my lord?" The man in purple invited himself and his group of friends over in an instant, proving Gisborne's point of how annoying the nobility really is.

"Lord Morahan," he plastered on a happy face, "I trust all is well in Derbyshire?"

"Ah, splendid indeed. I hear Nottingham has had nothing but success in building your fortress extensions," The guest Morahan waved over a count and his wife before offering a hand to Lucy. "And who is this lovely lady?"

"This is my… This is Lucy." Guy stumbled over his words. He was unsure what to call her; they were not engaged so not betrothed, yet she was more than a companion. He seemed to be the only one to notice his glitch.

"How very charmed I am," Morahan kissed her hand, bristling his absurd moustache across her knuckles. She was flattered nonetheless.

"Sincerely my pleasure, my lord." Lucy grinned. She looked up to Guy who was staring back, seemingly approving of her etiquette. The emeralds of her eyes shone when she was shown off; Lucy adored being flaunted on his arm like a piece of his jewelry. She could tell, though, that Guy was losing his appetite for small talk as the crowd of six or seven people all circled with them.

"Careful with this one," a plump count stuck a sausage finger to Gisborne, "he's trouble for a pretty lady like you."

"Yes, no one could blame you to run now." Joked his wife with a clap of her hands.

"Good advice." Guy followed along as he cocked his head, feeling stuffy and constrained with so many people, their weight adding to that of his guilt. Lucy giggled and put her hand on his arm, turning with a sweet face.

"Oh, Guy, don't be silly, now. I love you." She sweetly hummed, expecting him to say it back. Gisborne's face fell flat, his skin paled with a breath, and his eyes shot to all the people around them. He swallowed hard and looked back at Lucy, who crinkled her eyebrows slightly at his hesitance. After clearing his throat, Guy went back to the count.

"I heard you opened up a new supply route for the Crusaders."

"Um, yes," the noble stumbled back into the conversation as awkward air drifted between them all, "as you know the war in the Holy Land has taken a nasty turn."

"I heard General Lamboc from London died out there." Another man chipped in. For the first time Lucy breathed in again, sharply, and blinked several times. Her fingers tightened on his bicep.

"Excuse me. War is not a topic of conversation for a lady." She curtly stated and then left, not bothering to see Guy's reaction at all. Thick cement dribbled into her lungs as Lucy's chest heaved for air. She made her way directly outside to the balcony where jesters schmoozed across the floor. Bushes of roses lined the grounds, their colors blending together as tears came to her eyes. She had done a high class job of ruining the night; she embarrassed Guy of Gisborne and herself. Surely he was furious. Lucy sat herself on a chair in the back corner and stuffed her face in her hands, wiping at the corners of her eyes and sweeping stray hairs away. After a moment a woman approached her, kindness on her face, brown hair playing with the mild breeze. She had seen this lady before, many times, in the castle, and yet they never spoke. The brunette sat next to her as Lucy pretended she was only getting curls away from her eyes.

"What a lovely night this is, isn't it?"

"Perfect weather."

"Forgive my manners – we haven't met for a long time. My name is Marian." She glowed. The name rang a bell in Lucy's head; ah yes, the woman from the party where she met Gisborne.

"Pleasure to see you, as always. I'm Lucy."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl." Marian commented as Lucy had a short sniff.

"You're too kind."

"I can't help but notice," she juicily said, leaning in for a secret, "You are on the arm of Guy of Gisborne tonight."

"Yes." Her lips tightened with bitter sweetness.

"I don't know if he ever told you, but we were engaged for quite a while."

"Oh…" Lucy felt the breath tumble out of her lungs. Marian waved a hand and laughed.

"No worries, it would have never worked out. We called it off. I just mention it because I remember when we would attend parties together, so much fun." She could taste the poison on her tongue as she prepared to sting the venom into Lucy.

"He can get into some pretty nice events." Lucy agreed.

"I think my favorite thing about going to things like this with him is just how sweet he is, you know?" Marian led her opponent's gaze back to the man in leather, "How lovely is it when he makes all those toasts about his love for you? I used to blush so much! It was a bit embarrassing, but you will get used to it. Eventually you won't even hear him because he'll constantly talk about your betrothal, am I right?" The mischief in Marian's smile went unnoticed.

"Um, yes."

"I mean, he does do that with you, right? Surely he isn't ashamed to be with you… I bet if you went in and said you loved him he would start a whole rant about lovely you are in front of everyone, the silly boy." She relished as Lucy's frown started to quiver and she brushed at her green eyes again.

"Well he is quite a character." She conceded.

"Do excuse me," Marian stood, "I see a long lost friend. Good night, Lucy." The blonde gave no answer as Marian floated away on clouds of joy, her heart slamming against her sternum with excitement and endorphins from confrontation. She got a rush off the feeling of being nasty. After a minute of sorrow Lucy grabbed the base of her dress and wandered back inside, roaming to find Gisborne. Before he could even speak she excused herself for the night and left. Her feet scampered down the streets of Nottingham, speeding up with each step she got closer to home, and her tears sliding down her neck into the collar of her dress.


	10. Hell

The shredded rabbit grew cold as the wood in the fireplace crackled with glowing hot embers. It was early in the evening, so the sun still allowed a glow through the windows of the Locksley cottage. Lucy watched intently out the window to a pair of cardinals that were enjoying the grass. It was the first day in weeks that there was no ice. Gisborne set down his fork to the silver plate and touched her arm, snapping the young girl from her loss of focus.

"Are you alright?"

"Perfect, my lord." She respectfully smiled before having another bite of leek. He sniffed and slid his supper across the table so that he could rest his elbows.

"I invited you here to spend time with you."

"And so I came."

"You're not speaking to me," Guy told her with a low baritone voice, "you're only answering questions."

"I'm sorry." Lucy set down the silverware and looked into his blue eyes.

"Are you not hungry?"

"Not particularly." She admitted. Gisborne waved a servant over who cleared the table in a flash, balancing all the dishes and leftovers into a jumble in her arms. Once they were alone he continued.

"Are you upset with me?" He sighed as Lucy's eyes fell to her lap, "What about?"

"Do you remember that party last week?" She eventually opened up. Luckily she did not look at him; Gisborne's eyes swelled with terror and his muscles solidified into bone. A burning hot sensation crept up in his throat as his heart raced against his chest. Crap, did she know about Marian? Guy had made it a top priority to avoid Lady Knighton at all costs imaginable. He had even abandoned overseeing her house arrest. He could not, however, take back the passionate kissing or the wandering hands from her body.

"Look… Lucy –"

"I know it's not a big deal. I'm sorry to burden you with it, it's unfair. I'm just being a stupid girl." She rolled her eyes.

"No, Lucy, you have every right to be angry. I cannot stop you from feeling betrayed by my foolish actions."

"Guy, really, it's ok." She said as she picked up on a waiver in his voice.

"I should not have done that to you," Gisborne tightened his fist on top of the table, "I hurt you. I never want to hurt you –"

"I know that. That's why I'm okay with it; I mean, it's my own fault, really."

"What?" Guy scrunched up his face in confusion. After a sip of wine Lucy nodded and held his hand in both of hers.

"I shouldn't just expect you to say you love me in front of everyone. You're an important man, you have an important image… I'm sorry I embarrassed you, Guy. You should be the one upset with me, not the other way round."

"What?" he repeated with an element of drama.

"When I told you I loved you… and you didn't say anything to me," Lucy explained. Her fingers fidgeted as she shook her head; hearing it all out loud made her seem immature and absurd, "It just made me a bit sad is all." She smiled at him as a grin of relief took over his face. Guy couldn't help but let out a chuckle. He had been so panicked that she saw his unfaithfulness when, in fact, she was being a petty woman. Guy swiped his palm through his hair and held Lucy's chin, feeling as though he could settle back down to the earth without fear of condemnation.

"Right, that. Yes. Look, I'm just not used to all this yet." Guy admitted. He felt free to share that information; in comparison to his other secrets locked away, that was no big deal to share.

"That's okay."

"I do love you, Lucy," He slid from his chair and placed himself before her on his knees, "I love you."

"I love you, too." She brushed her hand across his stubble, dragging a grin along his face with her fingers.

Crackles popped across the room as firewood crumbled and succumbed to the sheer heat. Although Lucy was blind to Marian's theft of his lips Guy felt crippling guilt swallow each cell of him as the night progressed. The touch of her hand reminded him how Marian led him down the hall, in the reflection of her eyes sat only Marian's kiss. Gisborne felt sick. He weaved a thin excuse from the air and shuttled his date back home to Nottingham before curling up in bed like a snail within his shell; heavy woolen sheets felt like silk on his chest as opposed to the horror of his crime. He had murdered, he had had affairs, he had stolen without prejudice or leniency, but this... this was hell. Sweat smeared his body even in the dead of winter. Guy could not remain still. He rolled and shifted like a nervous animal as the moon crawled up and eventually fell victim to the rising sun. Lucy did not feel jaded nor was she even aware, but he had to make it up to her. He had to repent for his deception but could not speak the words. Once the rays of the morning filtered in through sage colored windows Guy begin crafting a plan so complex, so expensive, so extravagant Lucy could never leave him.


	11. May the Games Begin

The day had arrived at last in all its glory. Mild fog danced on the ground as a light mist found its way down, the morning clouds beginning to thin out. The wheels of Gisborne's carriage hopped from rock to rock and cut through soft earth, the sheer curtains on the doors jostling with the motion. He found himself antsy but with a tingling anticipation coursing through his veins. He knew the guests and employees would already be at the grounds, the stands assembled and prepared, everything in its place. Guy's blue eyes wandered across the carriage to Lucy. She nibbled her bottom lip with excitement and watched as the grass along the route passed by.

"Guy, please, tell me where we're going." She grinned with a childish giddiness. She leaned forward in her seat with pleading in her eyes. Gisborne watched as the gold lace trim on her charcoal dress rose up and down with her breasts on the uneven terrain, his eagerness getting higher. He only had the honor of her body once, two months ago, but he never stopped wishing she would welcome sexual advances a second time. But there was hope yet; today was Valentine's Day. He had been courting her for six months. And after today, he would astound her beyond her wildest dreams.

"You're going to find out soon enough." His lips tightened to seal in the secret. After a few more minutes the cart rolled to a halt with horse whinnying replacing the sound of churning wheels. Guy commanded her to stay put for him to retrieve her from the other side. He slipped out of the door and scanned the arena. Once he was convinced it was put together to a satisfactory point, he firmly gripped the door handle and led out his date. Quickly, he placed his gloved hands over her eyes and led her forward to the front gate. Lucy shuffled with curiosity; she could hear foot traffic and horses, sense the beat of drums, and feel the cool fresh air.

"Are you ready for your gift?" Came his low voice from behind her.

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes! Just let me see already."

"Alright." Guy kissed the side of her head as he removed his palms, revealing his master plan. In the background was a sheet of trees from the edge of Sherwood Forest, and tall wooden stands filled with spectators from all around the satellite towns of Nottingham. In the middle of the ribbons and audience stood a long wooden median with jousters securing chainmail and plates to their animals. At the center of the semi-circle seating stood a distinguished stand with two small thrones, wine, and small cheeses and fruits. Lucy's green eyes shone as they bugged huge from their sockets, eyebrows perched high, jaw frozen open as she pasted her palms over her mouth. She looked to Guy whose smile was composed of sparkling teeth, fine wrinkles, and pleasure at seeing her reaction. She looked back to the jousting festival that had been unfolded at her feet before returning again to Gisborne's delighted face.

"You did this?"

"I did."

"I mean, all of this. The entire faire?"

"For you, yes." Gisborne removed her shocked hands cupping her lips and escorted her through the grounds. Red rose petals adorned the walkways and couples were trading flowers and trinkets on either side of them. Faint drums and lutes hummed tunes through the air. Keeping with party tradition, several patrons wandered with strips of paper pinned to their sleeves, a random name drawn from a bowl scrawled across it, spelling out the name of their destined valentine. Gisborne always considered that game fit for children, but he felt Lucy's hand squeeze in excitement as the bowl came to them on the sidewalk.

"My lord, my lady. We have names from everyone in the villages. Who is your valentine?" The redheaded woman greeted them before extending the bowl to Lucy. With a painfully huge grin she fished her slender hand inside and shuffled the paper until pulling the exact one she felt was right. The blonde unwrapped it and squealed, waving the strip in the air.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne!" She giggled, flashing the name to her handsome beau. Lucy plucked a second piece on his behalf and forked it into his chest, bouncing on her toes bursting to know what it said. With mild embarrassment Guy indulged her and took the paper, looking into her eyes as he unfolded it. _Marian of Knighton._ His nose crunched up in disgust with a steely glare, his stomach flipping over and kicking up disapproval. Suddenly the fun was assassinated. Gisborne snatched the note from Lucy's hand and threw them both into the dirt before pulling her on to their seats.

"Who was it?"

"Nobody I knew." He lied with bitterness. Guy shook his head as he climbed the steps to their private stand and tried to rattle all the thoughts of guilt and frustration out of his tortured mind. Today was not about him or Marian, he remembered, but rather Lucy. His hand gently fit into the small of her back as he helped lower her into her cushioned chair at the end of the field. Guy gave her a goblet beside a wink before sitting himself, flagging to the trumpet player that the couple were ready for entertainment.

Fanfares barreled as jousters lined up and adjusted their iron visors. The banners of yellow and black, the crest of Gisborne, marked the field where the games began. Individual players shot their lances to collect dangling rings, narrowly missing or succeeding, to the cheers of the crowd. Cutely Lucy peeked over to Guy who watched her pop a grape in her mouth flirtatiously with a whimsical giggle afterwards. His cool eyes did not leave her even after she shyly turned her head. Lucy was lured in by his seductive stare to the point where she only halfway watched the jousters pound their weapons into targets. Time slithered on as the couple teased each other further without a single word.

"Guy," Lucy eventually said over the music and sports, "I can't believe you did this all for me. It's too much!"

"There is no such thing as too much for you. No expense is too high, no jewelry too grand… Besides, I thought you may want to see the wealth and the title that could one day be yours." Gisborne hinted to her. She bit her lip and looked out over everything; it had never been a secret to them that his power attracted Lucy and his status turned her on. Unlike other women in England, Guy harbored no doubt that she would love him for richer or for poorer. But the rush he got off of spoiling the young girl perked up the hairs on his neck. He felt such a thrill from seeing the gleam of pride and recognition she looked at him with. Lucy admired him each time he looked down into her sweet face and he simply could not let that go.

The games on the field yielded a winner and now the men organized themselves for the true attraction: the duels. Announcers pepped up the crowd and ignited the competition before watching for Guy of Gisborne's signal to begin. Boasting with vanity, Gisborne stood and examined the audience that all hung on his most minute motions and phrases. Turning to Lucy, he felt like a god.

"Men!" he shouted over the arena with arms in the air, "Let this be the greatest battle you have fought in your lives. Know that you may be winners, you may be scarred, you may be killed. But you will be charging man to man, lance to lance for the sake of the young women of Nottingham. For their hearts. For their approval. And, most importantly, for the honor of this gorgeous girl, Lucy, the Lady Gisborne," he snuck his hand to his pocket, "… if she will have me."

Guy turned on his heel and knelt down to his knee, barely feeling the cold wooden floor beneath him as his heart and lungs raced faster and faster, nearly trying to outdo each other. Between his fingers he offered Lucy a ring – a gorgeous ring. The center stone was a magnificent emerald that matched her eyes, outer gems being sparkling sapphires and smaller emeralds. She could find no words as joyous tears rushed up into her eyes. Her pink lips trembled just as much as her fingers when Guy slowly took her unsteady hand and slid his ring onto her; the stones shimmered against her creamy pale skin. Lucy launched off of her seat and wrapped herself around Guy, both of them on their knees, and cried until she could no longer recover her breath. It took time before she could form any syllables.

"Yes, yes! Guy. Yes! I love you, yes." As she sobbed the horns screamed and started up the most gruesome and popular game of jousting. Gisborne peeled her quaking body from him and held her tightly by the shoulders, kissing her mouth with adoration and appetite. He found himself transfixed yet again by the heaving of her round, perky breasts as she leaned against him and attempted to settle down. They were his, she was his, this life he had crafted in his head could be his. He had clawed from the gutters of hell up walls of anguish and pain to grasp at success, money, and notoriety. Now he had a wife, children, a warm body that craved only to please him. Guy of Gisborne no longer felt like a god – he was one.

"I will always take care of you," he ran his thumb on her round prominent cheek, "and I swear, Lucy, I will never hurt you. I have the wealth and I have the status to give you the life you always dreamed of."

"I don't need money to love you."

"But I want you to have it. You are my world," Guy whispered as their foreheads pressed together, "Our life will be as beautiful as you are. I swear it." He clutched her golden head to his chest and bestowed her with kisses, vowing that nothing, and no one, would get in his way to remain divine.


	12. Let Me Count the Ways

"Wow, Marian… I'm impressed. You were always amazing, but you have really outdone yourself." Complimented Robin Hood as his fingers traced the edges of the hastily scribbled map. The pride in her eyes glinted as she pointed back to one of the rooms on the castle chart.

"I promise you will find more than enough to fund food for the end of the winter." She assured. The early buds of blossoms were beginning to be birthed as February snuck to a close, their scent waving to passers-by of the forest. The shaded route that the couple strolled down rustled with mild breeze.

"England thanks you," the outlaw paused in place, "I thank you." While taking her hand Robin came in for a kiss. Marian felt her shoulders crisp into concrete as his lips touched her, the guilt of knowing he would be crushed if he found out about her recent planning. She tasted Gisborne's kiss. As Hood pulled back she discreetly wiped her mouth.

"It's my pleasure."

"You're my pleasure."

"I really must be going," Marian cut him off as he reached for her waist, "I have to be back in my chambers before anyone notices I've left." Solemnly her date agreed, dissatisfaction showing. She began to wander off of the rocky path and headed directly for Locksley where her mare was waiting patiently. She gently held the reigns and walked the horse casually back to the main thoroughfare of the town. Although her eyes were forward Marian's mind wandered back down the road to the man of the forest; poor Robin. It wasn't his fault he couldn't maintain her affection. After all, Guy had always been there in every moment, good or bad, for her or against her, while Robin idly watched. He plotted whilst Guy acted. She longed for a man of deed, not a man who had slowed like a draining river, his words and secret donations being his only action. Perhaps, Marian pondered, she craved the danger that was Gisborne. How delicious it felt to be the one he changed his moods for.

She strolled past petite shops in the heart of Locksley before approaching the tall but humble church that stood proud beside a small pond, marking the middle of the city. Throughout the whole center of town were clusters of residents, their whispers floating through the air, their darting eyes harboring caution. After several minutes of this Marian could not help but reach out to grab snippets of what was being said.

"Oh, but it was just lovely."

"Yes, she's very pretty. They are sure to have gorgeous babies –"

"But do you really want him having anything to do with babies?"

"Heavens, no!"

"There you are then."

"Did you see that ring?"

"Bigger than Lady Marian's was!"

She scrunched up her face at all these random dribblings that followed her. She was tired, she was so damn tired of hearing it. So what if Gisborne had gotten engaged to another woman two weeks ago? Marian had met her, she wasn't at all special. The girl was at most plain; she had no chest and no personality to speak of. The jealousy in Marian's brain germinated into seething spite and petty slander. Her list of reasons why Lucy was dreadful extended like a wildfire. So what if she was young – Marian was young! But unlike that kid she had enough time on this planet to understand how to treat a man.

Marian's scoffing left disfiguring resentment on her expression as she approached the church doors. Posted on the building was a roster with their names formally announcing the betrothal, as was common. Space was left underneath the date for people to list any reason the marriage should be refuted in the eyes of the church and, to her dismay, no complaints had been filed. Everyone was obviously biting their tongues on Gisborne's crimes against humanity, but the church wouldn't stop him anyways. Men like him were invincible, uncatchable, impervious to even God's workers. Marian grew a grin; Lucy was nothing close to immortal.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne and Miss Lucille Ballard," she mocked while grabbing the adjacent feather and ink, "To be married in forty days… we'll see about that." Once she had scribbled line after line of revenge smothered grievances, Marian skipped back to her stone prison in the capitol city, cheer in her heart. She felt pity for Guy; how blind could he be wandering into a relationship with this nobody? She had no clout, no name, no special value. What did stupid little Lucy offer to the world? Nothing. Marian felt honored and smug for helping him avoid the biggest tragedy of his life. And how splendid it would be, she fantasized, to be the woman's arms he fell into after his brief and childish fling.

The next Sunday morning was shrouded in thin and lacey strips of a foggy chill. Guy had decided to put off rolling out of bed as long as possible, so by the time citizens of Nottingham were tending to duties, he was approaching the castle's courtyard to only begin the inventory of army supplies. His warm breath flourished into a cloud and yet he did not think it felt very chilly at all. He held tightly to his waning motivation and rummaged through the carts. Several piles later he looked up to see a visitor, Lucy, in tears. She had just slipped into the gate, but her burning red cheeks showed that she had been upset for some time. Guy dropped everything and met her halfway, his stride collected, her desperate shuffle speeding up when she came to him. Without words Lucy crashed herself into his armored chest and let out stinging tears. Her hands seemed boney as she clutched to his back with worry; her sobs were in no way feminine.

"What on earth is wrong?"

"They kicked me out, Guy! They told me I had to leave, I couldn't even finish…" Lucy's phrases were chopped and shaken by her emotions, bringing her betrothed no closer to an answer. He stroked her golden hair and soothed her with small hushes. Eventually her lungs regained control of her derailment.

"What's happened?" Gisborne leaned back and hunched to look into her distraught and splotched face; her eyes were puffed and stained a heavy pink from tears. His deep voice cradled her with the tone of a caring father.

"They threw me out of the church, Guy, in front of everyone."

"Who?"

"The priests! I was tossed out at communion. Communion! They denied me, Guy, spat on me."

"What?"

"They called me a whore!" Lucy broke down again and buried herself into her palms. Fury twitched in his face and his hold on her shoulders tightened.

"What?" he shouted this time, a flame igniting in his light blue eyes, "Trust me, Lucy, those bastards are going to regret it." He felt comfort in squeezing the hilt of his sheathed broadsword as Gisborne tore down the piazza towards the gate. Lucy chased after him and took his hand as they exited the castle grounds, her breath still quivering.

"They said a million awful things, Guy, they said I sell myself outside of a brothel and that I am stealing your money –"

"Bullshit," he sneered with rage, "it's all bullshit, don't worry yourself with it." Lucy squeezed his arm with both of her hands and tugged him to a halt.

"They know we…" Her swollen green eyes glanced side to side as her voice fell lower, "They know we shared your bed together. We're labelled as fornicators." Tears reappeared, meanwhile Guy seemed unfazed.

"Do you regret it?"

"How did they find ou –"

"Do you regret it?" He challenged again.

"I don't know…"

"Do you love me?"

"Of course." She answered with obedience and sincerity.

"Then I don't care what they believe we did."

"But, Guy, it's insane. They kept screaming that I am a prostitute and that you have children with another woman –"

"What?!" A vehemence popped at this idea. Suddenly Gisborne could not grab at enough air, it was gone, everything dissolved around him and panic set in. Who knew about that damned baby, Seth? By now it would be a toddler, he guessed, if it had lived at all. The kid's mother would be the only one who knew, but what business did she have tearing his marriage apart? Not like she wanted it, either. It felt as if boiling water was poured down his collar and flowed across his skin as Gisborne thought Lucy may discover the truth in this accusation.

"Fucking Christ." He muttered.

"Don't speak of the Lord that way." Lucy was quick to reply, but his menacing glare silenced her in a moment.

"I will handle this. Go home and I will come to you when it's all sorted," Guy kissed her forehead, "I promise." Without resistance the young girl complied, leaving him to stalk towards Nottingham's church. He swung into the building with zero hesitation or respect for its sanctity. The presiding priest looked up from the front podium, his graying hair in a mess of curls, his eyes startled by the surprise entrance of Gisborne. Sunlight filtered into the windows and highlighted the large metal cross suspended from the ceiling.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne…" The clergyman was taken aback as he walked down the aisle, "I was not expecting you. Have you come to discuss your wedding in Locksley?"

"You know, Barnabus," Gisborne cocked his head and slipped a small dagger from his belt with precision, "I think we have a lot of things to talk about."


	13. Entrapment

"Do you think that looks good enough?" Sherriff Vaisey spat, his torso shaking as he screamed, "What do you think we're doing here? It's not good enough! Hang it again!" The worker instantly nodded and began to redesign the string of ribbon, its dark color not standing out too well from the stone walls of Nottingham castle. The short leader nervously fidgeted with the chunky falcon ring on his right hand; he had to make a good impression this afternoon.

"My lord," Gisborne caught up to him, "all the guards are in their place. No one gets in, no one gets out. Especially not Hood." Slowly Vaisey nodded as his gray fur coat dusted along the floor behind him. As he began to pick at filthy nails two guards rounded the corner, each with a glowing sharp halberd in hand, flanking none other than Lucy. Her difference in height from the silver skinned pair made her seem even more out of place.

"Lucy, what are you doing here?" Guy caught a lump in his throat, holding tightly to the custom ring he wore signaling the Black Knights.

"You called me here –"

"Ah, no, sorry for the mix up, that was me," Vaisey added himself in with a foul smile, a sapphire in his tooth beaming, "How are you dear? Don't believe we've met."

"You must be the Sherriff," she curtsied as the guards disappeared, "It is such an honor."

"Oh, now, now." Vaisey walked over to her, their stature not so different, and did a circle around the girl.

"My lord…" Gisborne cleared his throat with an obviously unsettled demeanor; his arms folded over his chest with stiff muscles.

"I thought she would be great company for our distinguished guest today, don't you?" The Sherriff slowly ran his fingers through the loose curls of her hair, "You're not the only one with a thing for blondes, you know. Now, my dear, how would you like to escort our friend Prince John around, hm?"

"Prince John," her mouth fell open a bit, "King Richard's brother? Oh, no, sire. That's not for my kind of blood."

"Nonsense, you're marrying good ol' Gisborne, eh? Give yourself some credit." Vaisey ate up the eye roll Guy gave; the man in black slacked his jaw to the side and let out a thick and heavy breath. The Sherriff, he knew, was always up to something. He looked to his fiancée who gave him a meek smile as if asking permission.

"You are not to leave my side today, Lucy. Understand?" he instructed carefully as she giddily nodded.

"Now Gisborne," the Sherriff put a finger in his face before exiting to the courtyard, "Learn to share your toys." As the head of Nottingham departed, Gisborne gently held Lucy by the arm.

"You absolutely must be on your best behavior. There are many important men doing important things here, Lucy, and you cannot be distracting or getting involved, is that clear?"

"Of course, Guy." She warmly answered with excitement dancing in her emerald eyes. The poor little thing had no idea she was being used, and her betrothed did not know what for, either. Due to past experience he was hesitant to trust her; Marian often destroyed anything she touched. Guy had never had an issue with Lucy's obedience before, though, so he hoped it would go rather smoothly. The sound of thick wooden wagon wheels whipping into the castle drew the couple outside to where Vaisey and dozens of guards awaited their prince. The carriage was strewn in white and red ribbons and matching curtains, the drivers in full uniform with swollen pride as they disembarked and opened the door.

With a regal air the redheaded royalty stepped out, a cheeky grin plastered onto his face, jewelry dripping from his body. His confidence preceded him on the steps as he came to shake the Sherriff's hand. Lucy felt herself stunned. The prince, an actual prince, was a mere yard away with all of the charisma and kindness one imagines in such a person. Her heart twitched realizing this was the kind of man she was going to marry; it was nerve-racking to think she was betrothed to a friend of the crown. As the daughter of a blacksmith she felt her stomach gurgle with anxieties, but as a future wife she was so proud of Gisborne's status.

"Oh, Vaisey, how charming it is to come up north and get out of stuffy old London!" John boisterously introduced himself into their company.

"My good man, it's our honor… if only under better circumstances." Vaisey fiddled his fingers. The Prince gave a nod to Gisborne but was clearly drawn rather to his partner; he removed his glove and kissed her hand.

"My, oh my, every time I come this town gets prettier. How are you my dear?"

"Splendid, my lord," she bowed her head as her heart drummed to her sternum, "My name is Lucille Ballard. It is an absolute pleasure to be in your presence, Sire." Lucy looked over to Guy for approval. She had used her best manners and attempted so desperately to be at his standard; a mild relief came to her when Gisborne returned the proud nod of a father.

"Well, let us begin!" John clapped his hands and entered the main hall of the castle where he took his prepared seat at the head of the table. Several others congregated here and took a seat with professional stares on their middle aged faces.

"Before we start, my lord," Vaisey interjected before sitting, "I thought you may want to have some fun." He waved in a chainmail clad guard with a prisoner in tow. The captive was a young man, scrawny in shape, filthy in looks, and broken in spirit. Lucy frowned a bit as all the men lacked a single flinch to the starved state of the accused. He was brought before the semi-circle of nobles and tossed down with his arms tethered by D-shaped handcuffs. She recalled her time in those before and knew just how uncomfortable their digging was.

"This man was found syphoning your money, my lord," Gisborne boomed, "taking cash from the war effort for his own pockets." The prisoner did not dare to look up as chatter softly broke out.

"What should we do with you…" John pondered aloud before turning with a grin, "Lucille, what do you think?"

"Beg your pardon?" Her posture perked up as her fiancé eyed her up and down, praying she would not create a blunder in his image.

"This thief. The crook that makes your hometown dangerous, my sweet. What is the punishment for his crime?"

"Well," Lucy thought silently for a moment and glanced to Gisborne for permission to speak, "Sire, he appears hungry and beaten. I think he has already received fair punishment." Voices broke out but the royalty waved them off, never taking his eyes away from her nervous lips.

"He is a sinner who shamed the crown."

"With all due respect, Sire, we are all sinners before the gates of heaven."

"Yes, well," Vaisey rolled his eyes, "Assume your God doesn't care about him."

"Whether you accept him or not, He is your God too." Lucy blurted out before thinking. She felt a tingle of shame as Guy slapped a cupped hand to the back of her neck and felt him squeeze. She reluctantly looked to him and wished she hadn't; Gisborne was fuming. Not only had his superior flirted with his fiancée in the open, she had then let her tongue run off with fanciful opinions and poked the Sherriff.

"Excuse her, she is but a child. Lucy does not yet know how to hold her tongue and behave like a woman should." Gisborne stung with venomous words. She could feel her cheeks growing to become swelteringly hot, her fingers and toes curling up. Lucy was thoroughly embarrassed at ruining her chance to impress her betrothed's posh company. Her heart ached with offense to what he had just said.

"Why don't you and your God go fetch us some wine like a good girl?" The Sherriff said to her with a snarky glare. Lucy mentioned nothing more before breaking off from the room, leaving Guy to marinate in her shame. Gisborne could see in the smugness of his boss' face that this was the purpose of her visit; Vaisey starved to be praised by Prince John so he had resorted to pressing Guy deeper into the dirt. The leather clad man did not dare confront him, however, he boiled and itched with anger. They were a team, always headed for a common goal, until Vaisey could find a place to worm his leg up. Gisborne simply scoffed and went back to the agendas of the Black Knights. In his state of hostility he did not even bother to think of Lucy, whose small hands were shaking as she cried outside on the veranda.

The blonde pressed herself to a stone column and took in deep breaths through her nose, settling her stomach, sniffing back more worry. She was so stressed out she nearly felt apathetic at times. Wasn't marrying into nobility supposed to solve her problems, not concoct them into some wicked mess? Lucy fiddled with the hem of her sleeve as she collected herself. Oh how she loved Guy of Gisborne – his smile, his wit, his strength. He taught her so much about the world and protected her from everything. Everything except, of course, these scenarios she walked into. Lucy downed herself for being such a silly and petty girl; her skin shivered as she chewed on her tongue. Perhaps she just wasn't good enough for the title of Lady Gisborne. After all, she was nothing more than a barmaid who struggled to survive after her parent's death. There must be hundreds of gorgeous nobles in England he would rather be with… Lucy drew in a deep breath of lilac and early spring from the nearby garden to clear her head. He loved her, this she knew without reservation. Her mind wandered to the afternoon she had let him have her in his bed, how their warm skin touched, how his hands held her hard though his kisses were as light as air. Those moments of privacy were immaculate between them; she could be herself, after all. She yearned for Guy to be as proud of her as she was of him. And yet, at each social occasion she managed to talk her way into trouble. Lucy took in another breath and stuck her chin up to the breeze. She decided to prove herself wrong about it all. She was going to plan a perfect wedding and be a perfect wife, this she swore with an iron dedication that matched the pressed steel of a sword.

With one glance back to the doors she silently vowed to her beloved to never let him down again.


	14. I Do

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"I really appreciate this." Lucy said with a schoolgirl's grin. Guy of Gisborne did not bother stifling his happiness when fetching a sack of golden crowns from the fireplace mantle; the dawning spring made it warm enough to not need a fire this afternoon. His hand offered over the bag but retracted high enough to be out of reach when she went to grab it. Guy's smirk made her mirror his banter.

"I want you to pick out the most beautiful gown you can find – no matter the cost. Price is never going to be an issue for you again." He boasted with pride. Lucy bit her lip with a touch of giddiness before he pulled the cash further from her again, her giggle infectious.

"Guy!" She reached her tiptoes to swat at the bag only above his head; he certainly had the height advantage. With a sparkle in her youthful eyes Lucy gave him a kiss, the slow and passionate kind, drawing him to surrender the money. Gisborne wrapped his hands around the narrow waist of her peach dress and lifted her up by the ribs for another kiss, then shooed her affectionately to waste her afternoon picking out fabric for a wedding gown. As Lucy departed the castle Guy made his way to the window of his chambers that overlooked one of the immaculately manicured gardens. His lungs drew in a cavernous breath of air as he scratched at his beard; how strange the past six months had been for the man wrapped in black.

Gisborne felt rather odd, if not slightly embarrassed, about his affection and time with Marian. The term "with Marian," he realized, was needed to be used rather loosely. He had so many suns rise and fall over agony and yearning. He had certainly done all of the work and aching, which was not a healthy sign of a relationship to begin with. But now watching the brunette at breakfast confused him – why her? Why on earth was he so magnetized to the most infuriating, stubborn, useless woman in all of England? She had no intentions of being anyone's docile wife, that was obvious, and yet he tugged mountains and rearranged stars just for her to see – all to no avail. Then, the day he abandoned her, he found something so… so pure. There is not a sentence that flows from Lucy's lips that he must twist, interrogate, and interpret like hers. He had found himself succumbing to emotion so simply that it didn't take any morsel of effort. That terrified Guy, yet assuaged him with a calm that kept his faith in his betrothed. It was like falling asleep; he thought for so long about love and then fell all at once, not realizing it had happened until awaking later. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the upcoming wedding, the scent of flowers drifting across the universe and enveloping their bodies. In this imaginary shelter where the shades of leaves danced on Lucy's skin he found, for the first time in so many years, calm.

Guy of Gisborne did not have to wait long for the final week to pass by. Gentle drums hummed from the shore of the local pond at Locksley as a few women finished hanging fluffed English roses and fresh peonies from arches and trellises scattered by the church. His wedding day had arrived. Guy hid himself in the room of his manor as he scouted the activities from above. Peasants, of course, were taking the opportunity to abandon work and drink, but nobles from around the area were also beginning to filter in. Not too much longer now, he thought, before he would have to go down. Gisborne was not necessarily in fear as much as bashfulness. He loved attention, God he survived on that second only to water, but appearing before hundreds to talk about his feelings was… well, less than comfortable. In the reflection of a shined metal mirror he combed his growing hair for the fourth time. With a straightening of his ascot he found no other diversions and so headed to the church down the lane.

Lucy, too, felt a shyness creeping up in her throat as her carriage ricketed along the road from her home in Nottingham to the quaint church of her new residence, Locksley. Hardness clung to the alveoli in her lungs as she thought again of living in that manor. A manor! It was hard enough to consider being crowned with the title of Lady, but holding an entire village, and clout in France? She felt her rouged cheeks tighten up as the cart entered the town. Lucy was torn – she wished her family had survived to see her marry with such a leap in status, and yet maybe their plague of leprosy was a gift to keep them from seeing her fail miserably at being a noble. Nervous voices in her head became louder as she approached more and more people. What if jealous women started more rumors like they had at church? What if high class ladies snickered behind her at her poor, working-class blood? What if she embarrassed Guy again? Lucy took the face covering section of her veil and flipped it on correctly as the wheels came to a stop. She hardly had a moment to collect herself before the door was clicked open by none other than Gisborne. With his usual air of confidence he extracted her from the wagon and did not look away from her green eyes that shown through the lace. As Lucy's slim hands trembled he squeezed her palm in his.

"I love you." She whispered in an effort to reassure both of them as they proceeded to the entryway of the church.

"I know." Guy coyly joked with a smirk and a wink. Lines of visitors rich and poor, young and old, covered in jewels and linen flanked them and followed the pair to the door. Villagers prayed that this would ease Gisborne's rampages and instill in him a conscience. The baby powder blue gown that flowed from Lucy matched the draped fabric and ribbons that adorned the town and offset the creamy white flowers that matched the makeup she had covered herself in. This was it. Once they had entered the church Guy sensed his Adam's apple clenching with regret. His thoughts flung to Marian and the hardy sucker punch she had nailed into him last time his feet were in this building. Even the black suit he wore was the same as that day. Also he felt a surge of power and authority that twinned that god-awful afternoon. He positioned himself across from Lucy, lightly holding her hands in both of his, and grinned with victory. He was taking a wife, an obedient wife, a beautiful wife. Soon he would have a plethora of heirs to claim the seat of Nottingham with his name plastered through the county. She was so petite, too, and thin. There was no doubt he could always overpower her, which Gisborne thrived on. Lucy would never get near Marian's attempt at a victory over him. And nobody could take her away.

The local priests rambled for what, to Gisborne, was an eternity. Most of the clergymen from the area were in attendance. Not Barnabus, of course because, well… Guy smothered a chuckle. He looked to his bride who was glowing and bursting with sunlight and joy. She was certainly worth maiming that priest. In order to satisfy her he lent his ear and listened in and out to the religious spouting.

"Remember to always keep the Holy Spirit within this marriage," he instructed to many nods, "and do not forget that this is a unity before God." Gisborne rolled his eyes and readjusted his weight. Lucy either ignored or was oblivious to his attitude and focused on each syllable. He kept staring at her as the fathers went on to something written by Matthew.

"But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first. So many who are the greatest now will be least important then, and those who seem least important now will be the greatest then. Remember, my children, to be earnest and live with faith in your riches," the priest did not dare to look directly at Guy, but rather his wife, "It is difficult to be wealthy and a good Christian, and I pray that you can avoid the temptations and sin from it. Both of you…" Gisborne shot a dirty glare to the preacher and encouraged him to wrap up the service. The itching of anger at this holy man's arrogance bit at Guy but was soothed by the tight hold Lucy had on his hands. The couple was brought outside to a florally decorated table topped with stacked layers of cake, the tower threatening to topple. Lucy stood opposite of him and giggled when it was announced that they could kiss. Guy leaned over the cake, one hand slipping the sheer veil away, the other cupping her soft cheek as she rested a palm on his jaw. As he kissed her he nearly overlooked the dominating cheers and shouts all around. His mind focused on her sweet taste and the smell of lilacs from her curled yellow hair. Lucy pulled back and threw her hands in the air. Tradition whispered through the breeze that since not a piece of cake fell out of place the Gisbornes were blessed with prosperity in love and fertility of children.

As he kissed her neck and held tight to her ribs she glanced behind her at his manor, their manor, her home. Lucy went back to her husband whose clear blue eyes were filled with pride and adoration. She had no faith in herself. There was not a chance Lucy could hold her head high and walk with the confidence he had. Yet, in his arms, Lady Lucille of Gisborne knew that nothing in this world could hurt her ever again.


	15. I'm So Sorry

Gisborne nearly missed the bottom step as he hurried downstairs in the morning, one hand sheathing a dagger and the other tucking away a rogue piece of hair. The sun had been stirring Locksley awake for only half an hour or so by the time he grabbed up his saddlebags and prepared to ride to Nottingham. Guy made a pit stop in the kitchen before heading out where two maids and his wife were seated around a small table, their eyes all clearly tired. The instant he entered one woman rose like she had been jolted by lightning, grabbing a meaty portion of breakfast bread covered in fruit to give him. Gisborne took the breakfast with no words of thanks to his staff.

"What have you got in Nottingham today?" Lucy sleepily asked, half of her mouth working at a smile. The barley tea in her hand wafted the scent of honey to his side of the room.

"Taxes," Guy answered half-heartedly, "Finishing up some things before Prince John comes, of course… and you?"

"Um, guess I don't know really," she glanced down to the corner of her eye with a mild pout, "I've never not had to work." It had been a week since she had taken on the role of a wife, but Lucy still wasn't sure exactly what to do with it. With the title of nobility strapped to them the house was milling with staff at all hours of the day, so she never had to clean or cook, much less go out to purchase foodstuffs. She actually struggled to find things to pass the hours of her new life. Guy waltzed to her and stooped to kiss her forehead, the workers electing to look away, and tilted up her chin with two fingers.

"I tell you what, why don't you send everyone home for the day. Go put on your best dress and spend the afternoon making your husband the best dinner in England. I'm going to come home tonight with some wine, we'll have the best meal of our lives, and then I'm going to take you upstairs and keep you in my bed for the rest of the night. Deal?"

"Deal." Lucy crinkled up her nose with a small laugh when the heat of his words hit her. Gisborne gave the blonde a kiss and left, saddling up his stallion and charging away for the next ten hours. After a few moments Alice the maid spoke up.

"We can get going, my Lady, if you like –"

"No, stay." She cut her off with poorly shielded desperation.

"Would you like more to drink?"

"No, thanks. I'm doing just fine. I suppose I'm just a bit lonely."

"Any friends you would like me to call over, Miss?"

"No, I don't really… most people I knew haven't taken too kindly to my change in lifestyle. Jealous I suppose. Angry that they have to work while I," Lucy swallowed and looked away, omitting the phrase about spreading her legs that she had heard, as Alice nodded, "Politics, too – so many girls I worked with argue over Guy's politics and say it's immoral for me to be with him."

"Well dear, it's probably not my place, but a lot of problems people have with him are not politics. There are much worse things Guy of Gisborne does than believe in government reform." Alice pursed her lips as Lucy became obviously disgruntled. She regretted opening up to the lady of the house even though Lucy had; it was a mistake to bring her opinions against Guy into the universe. She would be sacked for sure.

"I think I do want to be alone, after all."

Robin of Locksley tossed his arms in the air again with his jaw open. The breeze brushed tall grasses on the ridge of the hill to the left as Marian threw a stick to the side.

"Would you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing to do with you, I promise." Marian tapped her foot anxiously as her and the outlaw overlooked the satellite village that he used to own, the shriveled heads of some roses still brushed around from the wedding last week. She bitterly sniffed in fresh spring air.

"Marian, please. I swear, I'm trying. I know it's hard while I have to live in the woods and I'm sorry," he gently took her hand, "I'm so sorry."

"It should have been me." She eventually replied after a chest-crushingly heavy silence.

"What?"

"That, Robin. That life, that house." She motioned to the manor with the hay-thatched roof.

"I know. You have every right to be upset, I'm still furious, that's our land, Marian! You're with the true Lord of Locksley, and one day it will be ours."

"I'm a grown woman, Robin. I shouldn't be sneaking through the woods. It should have been me… I should have married him."

"Excuse me?!" A snap could nearly be heard from the artery in Hood's neck.

"The Lord of Locksley," She quickly covered with a sourness on her face, "You. You, but as the Lord. How could you think I meant Guy?"

"Gisborne. Why do you still talk as if you're friends?"

"We're not…" Marian shook her head and turned back to face the ghostly thin trees, "You just wouldn't get it."

"What is there to get? So far I get that you have hardly spoken to me since Christmas. I have to hunt you down in your own chambers to find you!"

"I'm busy."

"With what? You're not helping me anymore." Robin's voice climbed until he was yelling, his face blotching red, his blue eyes popping in the wind. Marian vaguely waved him away with her hand before trudging back to her horse, a brattiness to her step. Hood also stormed off to dissolve back into his shelter of trees and criminals. His brain steamed and fumed while his hands constantly wrung the hem of his shirt. All he could think was, _what the hell_?

Lucy, too, had that train of thought as she stood over a boiling pot. Inside sat a simmering hunk of venison that had been freshly hunted and cut for her that morning. She was doing her best to follow her husband's instructions, but she couldn't quite figure out how to cook it. Her hands had certainly never touched any type of meat so exclusive, and what in the world were all of these spices? Saffron? Cayenne? All of the bottles stacked through the kitchen were exquisite imports from the Holy Lands. As a middle-class nobody she had no clue what she was doing. A dash of that one seemed to soak in okay, but the smell of the brown one was revolting, so she tossed in a sprinkle of the yellow. With a heavy sigh Lucy prayed an argument would not ignite over the spark of a dreadful meal.

Sundown came to Locksley just as Gisborne did, his footsteps into the house anything but careful. He was greeted by silence which drew a grin to his face; Lucy had obeyed him and gotten rid of the staff. He adored her submission. Entering the kitchen he found his wife pulling the deer meat from the pot onto two plates. A smile burst from her when she saw him. Lucy set the plates on the dining table and threw her arms around him. Guy held her tightly to his chest, the softness of her magenta gown welcome to his tired hands.

"How was your day? Anything interesting?" She chirped before giving him silverware as Guy took a seat. He cocked his head to the side and looked down; the morning had started with scalding more than a few inmates, then he tore crowns from starving farmers at the collapse of winter, and wrapped up with military drills to practice the assassination of King Richard I.

"Boring politics, nothing for women to worry themselves with."

"Well I had a rather good day; I touched up the vegetable garden and threw this together. Do you want to say a prayer or should I?" Lucy took his silence as a liberty for her to take the honors. In a few moments they began their meal with full goblets of wine and slowly melting beeswax candles. Guy took the first bite but within a heartbeat wished he hadn't.

"Shit," He coughed, grasping at his cup and guzzling half the drink. Lucy came to the same conclusion, her stomach kicking up a fuss at the seasoning. It was very nearly like she had shoved the flaming candle into her own throat; the spices bit a vengeful heat into the tongue and stole the oxygen from victim lungs. She coughed and scraped her chair back a few inches. "What the hell is in here?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"How do you not know?" Gisborne's brows furrowed. Lucy bit her lip and sniffed as her skin returned to cream after her choking fit.

"I haven't really used spicy food before and I guess, um, I got carried away?" Lucy swiftly took the plates from the table and set them elsewhere, a water in the corners of her eyes. He couldn't decipher whether they were distress signals from the flavor or guilt from her failure.

"Lucy –"

"Guy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know you worked hard today and you deserve a good meal and I'm so sorry I'm not a good enough wife for you."

"Lucy, hush," Gisborne pressed his pointer finger to her rose shaded lips and hesitated to speak, "I haven't waited to come home today for the food." A sinister smile crept onto his face as he pinned her playfully to the counter. His hands were on either side of her waist as Guy leaned down to have their noses touch.

"Surely you're hungry."

"Not for dinner." His low voice whispered before kissing her. Lucy couldn't help but chuckle as his right hand brushed through her loose blonde hair, his fingers smoothly finding their way down the strands to her breast.

"Guy." She jokingly scolded.

"Oh, come now, Lady Gisborne, surely you won't tell your husband no?" He slithered his hand behind her back and down to her knees, sweeping her from the floor and carrying the laughing girl up creaking wooden steps to his bedroom. By the light of the stars Guy continued his scandalously suave touches and kisses as Lucy lie under him, their bodies wrapped in bed sheets, and as their skin and their hearts encountered one another the newlyweds had no doubt in their minds that they had made the right choice.


	16. An Ill Wife

The creaking of bugs outside in the humid evening flowed through Gisborne's home in Locksley as spring flourished. As the moon dodged wispy gray clouds in the evening the people of Locksley all huddled together for supper in their abodes. Small drips of wax slithered down to the pewter candlestick holders on the table between the married couple, their silence as thick as the rabbit meat on their plates. Guy glanced up again to notice Lucy's grimace; her jaw appeared sewn shut tightly, her lips smashed together as her green eyes looked anywhere except the food.

"You alright?" He brought up between bites of bread.

"Oh, yes," Lucy wiped her palm to her forehead in discomfort, "I suppose I'm just not hungry." She painted a clearly fake smile for him and scooted her chair back a little.

"I thought you liked rabbit."

"I do, and I so appreciate you hunting it for us, Guy. I just don't seem to be in the mood to eat. Perhaps I will go lie down for the evening… may I?" He took another mouthful of food and nodded, waving her back out of the kitchen lightly. She could see in his eyes that he had anticipated seeing her this evening, but neither of them could deny that she felt downright awful. Lucy stood and tucked in her chair before planting a firm kiss on his temple, her hands squeezing his broad shoulders, and retreated for the night. Gisborne let out a sigh and reached across the round table. He dragged her goblet of untouched wine over and mixed it into his, the liquid swirling together, the motion taking his attention for a moment. His blue eyes traced down the hall to see her work her way up the staircase, various staff members tidying up for the night around her. Gisborne, too, shoved away his meal and pushed the sleeves of his thin black shirt up.

This was the third day in a week his wife had not been feeling well. It was as if he couldn't feed her if Lucy's life depended on it, and he hated it. What if something was wrong? What if their six week marriage was inevitably going to fade into the air with her dwindling health? What if… what if he couldn't control it? Guy poked his knife into the table a few times with this realization. His hands could not mold her vitality, nor could he alleviate any of her discomfort with his well wishes. Gisborne found himself frustrated. It did not help that John was breathing down his neck, the hot air of the royal creeping down his spine, the overhanging pressure of the violent rejection of the King clawing for his attention at every moment. He cleared his throat and guzzled the remaining alcohol.

On the second story Lucy had enveloped herself in a cocoon of sheets in her chambers, the flicker of bedside candles keeping her company. As she rested the thick air of malevolence escaped her body, leaving only the anxiety of her mind. Still, she knew she was dying. Quiet had settled through the village as the night settled to the soil, but she could not find peace, nor could she find sleep even with the fatigue. Lucy rustled in the bed to get comfortable, but winced as she rolled to her stomach. Flipping onto her back, Lucy folded her arms over her breasts. How did it hurt so badly for them to be touched? What kind of disease does this? Her young mind found all kinds of avenues to sprint down in pursuit of a solution. Perhaps, she wondered, she had been indulging her husband too much and this was a punishment. Downstairs Guy meandered into the front room without a word, worry shielded on his face by the hardness of concern and stress that controlled his every movement. He slowly buckled up his leather jacket and instructed a maid to go up to his wife.

"I'm going to fetch the physician," he added, "keep her comfortable until then." As Gisborne got to the stables the worker trotted upstairs to Lucy's bedroom door. She gingerly tapped at the wood with her fingernails, a tiny pang of worry bubbling inside. The workers in the manor knew without doubt that Lady Gisborne was infinitely more approachable than the Lord of the house, and yet they collectively wondered when he would rub off on her. Surely no woman could stay sane in a marriage to him. Lucy clicked open the door, fatigue clearly weighing down even the curls of her hair. She appeared tired, so tired, and a few years older than she actually was.

"What is it, Mary?"

"My lady," she nodded out of courtesy, "Your husband asked me to check on you."

"Tell him I'm fine, I don't want to worry him."

"Are you fine, ma'am?"

"Surely it will pass."

"He has gone to fetch the physician." Mary noted, but she lost her smile when Lucy's face collapsed. She looked saddened as she let out a heavy sigh and went to sit on the bed.

"Wonderful." Was Lucy's blunt answer.

"My lady," the middle-aged worker let herself in after a quiet lull, "Is there anything wrong?"

"I don't want to worry Guy."

"But are you concerned, my dear?" she asked with furrowed brows. A leak of water came to the blonde woman's eyes, back arching over as she wiped her cheeks. Lucy looked up into Mary's panic as she sat beside the Lady Gisborne.

"What if I'm dying?" Lucy whispered through struggling tears; they were battling their way out of her as she attempted to smother them.

"What on earth is the matter my dear?" Mary quickly latched her blonde head to her chest with tenderness.

"I feel sick constantly, I can't even eat… the last two meals I had came right back up. The smell of the rabbit tonight, too, ugh."

"Oh, dear."

"I'm so tired all the time, Mary, I can't even think."

"Do you hurt anywhere, your stomach?"

"No…" Lucy flinched as Mary laughed and worked her way to the window, glancing down to see Guy of Gisborne and the doctor riding back onto the grounds, their horses pounding down gravel in haste.

"My Lady Lucy," she calmly turned to see the stricken wife, "It's not an illness that's got you."

"What then?" Lucy curled her knees to her chest as another wave of nausea crashed upon the shore of her abdomen. From the hall the women could hear the pounding of feet on the wooden steps, their hurry evident, before Guy burst in with the frail medicine man of Locksley. Gisborne leapt to sit beside his curled up wife on the edge of the bed, concern etching each of her features in the candlelight.

"My Lord, I do not think she requires a doctor." Mary slyly grinned at them both.

"That is not your place to decide." Guy waved the short man for hire to Lucy. His hair was receding quickly, obviously losing the war against age, and his tunic seemed slightly too long for his frame. Lucy kept a wary glance on the maid as the doctor lowered her legs to examine her belly, his cold hands pressing onto her skin through the nightgown. Guy clenched tightly onto her hand as she did not move, not even a blink.

"Does that hurt?"

"No, not at all."

"I'm guessing you have been sick lately as well?"

"Um, yes," She glanced over with embarrassment to Guy as she discussed such a gross topic, "The last two breakfasts." The physician pressed his lips together and began stuffing jars of herbs back into his satchel, his tools jumbling together without an order. He stood in the thickened and stagnant air of the room.

"My Lord Gisborne, you do not have an ill wife… you have a baby."


	17. An Heir to the Throne

"This," Prince John tapped his gloved finger to the hand drawn chart, "I love. I think it will do us a lot of good."

"Indeed." Vaisey chipped in with a roll onto his toes, desperate to gobble up each scrap of attention that came to him. The room was stuffed with middle aged men dripping in black, their matching rings of conspiracy glinting in the entering sunlight. Gisborne popped his chin a bit in pride.

"The soldiers have been training for weeks; they are ready when you are." He noted. John grinned with a malicious giddiness and he trotted to the leaders of Nottingham.

"Thank you, men, for your undying support to the true England. A real man's England." The Prince slapped a hand to the shoulder of Guy and sent a tight smile to the Sherriff.

"It's our honor." Vaisey bit between them, the itch of jealousy riding up on him.

"Yes. Sir Guy, would you mind…?" John motioned to the door and escorted the man in leather through the threshold, his grip on his shoulder remaining firm.

"I hope you are fully satisfied with the plans," Gisborne interrupted the quiet with masked wariness, "We can always alter –"

"Oh, that? That is splendid my boy. I'm proud." Prince John gleamed, theatrical joy in his beady eyes. Guy felt his breath hesitate as those words soaked into his flesh – proud.

"My pleasure, my Lord."

"I heard through the grapevine, now, that you got married."

"Yes, Sire. About four months now, I believe."

"That cute little blonde you dangled around last time I came?"

"Yes." Guy nodded awkwardly; he could not, of course, ever let the contempt in his throat come out. How dare the Prince constantly assume his personal ownership over whatever woman he chose. Lucy belonged to Gisborne. John leaned himself closer, approaching his ear.

"Is it true she's pregnant?"

"Yes, Sire, about three months." He boasted. A swelling of vanity pressed against his ribs and squirmed to escape; Guy could not describe the pride he felt. Within the last few days Lucy had lost the ability to disguise the growing child in her clothing and it was wonderful. Each time he saw or, or even remembered, the growing womb he felt a supreme accomplishment at impregnating the small woman. He was truly superior.

"How very splendid... you know, it makes me think. Doesn't Vaisey look tired?"

"I don't think I follow."

"Well, stress is a demon at his age. Luckily young men like you and me have more resilience. I mean, surely you would lead Nottingham with glory in my name, wouldn't you?"

"Of course." Gisborne choked on his own Adam's apple at the anticipation of John's words.

"I am no fool, Guy; you are the one who trained the soldiers and drafted battle plans. I bet you look stunning amidst war, eh?"

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Only thing is," the royal redhead stopped and leaned over the rail of an outdoor railing, his eyes scanning the gardens, "I can't get rid of him."

"Why?" Guy matched his stance but masked the conspiracy in his words.

"Well, if anything happens to him I have you, my boy. My secret weapon, if you will. My protégé."

"My Lord, I am honored –"

"You cannot have this title, Gisborne, without an heir. I cannot lose this county," the strength in his voice took his look to the man in black, "I cannot afford it. If you fall there is no one behind you; no one I trust. It is imperative that this child understands the importance of what we are standing for."

This idea haunted Guy all day, the chilling threat that Nottingham could slip through his fingers like sand. It infuriated him. He was good, oh he was great, he was better than his boss. Even Prince John knew it. As he whipped his stallion into his Locksley stables Gisborne balled up his fists and chewed his cheeks raw; this baby was his token to the title of Sherriff. Without it…

"How did it go?" Lucy's chirp broke the spell of worry that screamed in his brain as Guy came into the house. She wrapped her arms around her husband, having to reach up to encircle his neck, and kissed him.

"Perfectly." He shortly replied. Gisborne took his hands down the slim arms of his wife and held the rounded bubble that peeked from the yellow fabric of her dress.

"Can you believe we are having a baby?" Lucy whispered with childish excitement like she did most days. Guy stroked his thumb side to side on her belly, his focus on who that fetus would become.

"He will be the strongest in England."

"My Lord, my Lady," a cook materialized in the kitchen doorway, "Supper will be another hour. Would you like anything to drink?"

"Water." He answered distractedly. Within little time two cups of water were brought out, freshly released from a stored barrel in the food cellar.

"Drink up, my Lady, I heard plenty of water will make the labor easier."

"I heard," a maid chipped in with the excitement of gossip, "a doctor in Italy wrote this book all about how to help your baby before it's born."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, ma'am. He thinks wine with toughen up a baby and undoubtedly make it a boy, and water will keep it a soft and healthy girl." Gisborne ripped the mug from her hand and threw it to the floor without a word, startling all three females.

"Guy!"

"You are not to have any water until this thing is born do you understand?" Hardness glided on his voice. Lucy instinctively let out a scoff and stepped over to the wooden cup, beginning to reach down and clean up after her husband's outburst.

"It's nonsense." She bitterly muttered in reference to the girl's chatter. With a single stride Guy came to her side and wrapped his fingers into the back of her head, holding tightly to her hair and turning Lucy's face to press their noses together. The steeliness in his glare terrified her.

"Don't you dare give me your shitty little attitude again, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Guy." She mumbled with fear laced through her eyes.

"I am your husband and you will respect that. I gave you an order, now will you follow it or not?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir." Lucy looked to the floor as red rushed to blotch her cheeks in embarrassment. The maids had evacuated long ago, but she was not oblivious to the thinness of the walls. Each soul in that house could hear his yelling. She had seen his temper snap before, but never on her. Suddenly his fingers loosened and Gisborne gently kissed Lucy's forehead; his touch absent of the idea that any eruption had occurred. Her hands shook a little as she snatched the cup from the floor and meekly smiled at him.

"Why don't you get some wine and help them finish supper, eh?" Guy's thumb stroked down the side of her pale neck with an element of romance that beckoned back to when they were married. It was even more fear-instilling to Lucy that he had come out from the tides anger as instantly as he had dived in.

"Yes, sir." She scurried off to the kitchen where the cooks put in too much effort to be oblivious. Lucy shakily poured a goblet of red wine and stared out the window into the setting sun, the oranges and pinks streaking the sky like a painting. She hardly noticed the trees shiver in the wind. She ground her teeth together and shifted her weight; could they have been right? The whispers, the dirty looks, the sneers. All the girls at her tavern laughed and told stories of how mean and bitter this man was, but it never bothered Lucy. He could be whoever he wanted as long as he loved her and treated her like a fragile flower, which he always had. Minus, of course, whatever the hell just happened.

Guy casually entered the kitchen and took a green bean to munch. Nobody looked at him, they didn't dare, but he came to his wife and placed a hand on the small of her back as if they had not spoken a word.

"Prince John sends his congratulations on our son."

"Well I don't really know what it is until it comes…" Lucy nervously reminded him.

"It will be a boy," Gisborne looked into her as if his words could command her body, "and we will have an heir to be Sheriff."

"I'm so glad you're home, even though I'm sure you did great with the Prince today." Lucy swapped the subject with discomfort splattered on her. She hurriedly drank and leaned onto his shoulder. Again he put his palm in her hair, but this time brushing it with adoration. Slowly the sweeping grass of Locksley chewed away at the sun, dragging it below the horizon and introducing night. Calm settled around the village and, just as stars began puncturing the darkness, the Gisbornes took their supper.


	18. I Never Asked You

"I'm just saying, they clearly didn't wait very long. Been married six months and she's already got a watermelon stuffed in her dress." Allan laughed with such fervor he nearly coughed on his own saliva, the humor infecting Will as well.

"There's nothing funny about the miracle of childbirth." Djaq added with a nasty glare.

"Naw, but with Gisborne? Ew."

"Would you shut up already?" Marian nearly shrieked from across the clearing. She threw her hand carved arrow into the soil and abandoned her bow; she felt a wave of nausea lift her up and crash her into a craggy shore. "You think it's so funny that he has a wife and a baby, but you will never be grown up enough to do it yourself, Allan!"

"Okay, okay," he stuck his hands in the air with exaggeratedly swollen blue eyes, "let's not get our girdles in a bunch."

"Forget it, I'll go practice somewhere else." Marian huffed as she grabbed at her hunting supplies and began jamming them back into her horse's saddlebags. At this very moment Robin came down the hill with John to meet the group in the basin. His mild jog brought the outlaw to his gang and lover in no time.

"Marian, you're going so soon my dear?"

"I have to."

"No, hey," Allan interjected, "look, I'm sorry. I'm joking 'cause it's got nothing to do with you!"

"What is he talking about?" Robin pointed behind him as he came up to her.

"All he wants to talk about is Guy."

"He's the talk of the town. Been putting soldier provisions on every street corner it seems, not to mention the ba –"

"Yes, Robin, I know! He has a baby!"

"Marian, what is your problem?" Hood asked with no filter. He crossed his arms like a toddler, the cool breeze of early September playing with his shaggy hair, the eyes of the criminals on the couple. The brunette woman said nothing for some time as she realigned the saddle on her mere.

"I'm tired of hearing about it, it's not fair. It's not fair!"

"You want a baby?" He hardened his face with sadness, knowing this was not an offer for them for some time. She said nothing, "Look, Marian, I want that, too. I want that for us. But you know I can't marry you as an outlaw."

"I never asked you to…"

"We can't have a baby without –"

"I never said we." She venomously bit. The surrounding gang found leaves to crinkle, clothes hems to pick, and distractions to avert their eyes as their leader's dirty laundry fluttered in the wind.

"You know, I am so tired of trying to talk to you anymore, Marian. You're not the same girl."

"You wouldn't know," she climbed up onto the white animal, "You live in the middle of the woods."

"Is that what all this is really about? It's been forever, probably a year, since I have felt like I know you… why are you hiding things from me?"

"You know why, Robin?" Marian swirled the horse to face him, its nose pulsing with her breath, "Because Guy of Gisborne is a good man. He is a nasty, sadistic army general, but he is an extraordinary lover who never once let me question if I was special. And now I get to watch some girl half his age waste away his money and live in his house and bear his children while I… well, I just come play in the woods with boys." As the sourness filled her mouth and rambled out all of their jaws were magnetized to the earth's core. The saliva on Robin's tongue thickened as he was bombarded with chemicals pounding through his brain and heart. Marian strode off while Hood still attempted to relearn breathing. The oxygen in his lungs seemed heavy, infinitely insufficient, and altogether absent. He did not move, even when John slapped a hand between his shoulder blades.

"Is it possible?" He muttered.

"She's just upset that sh –"

"Is it possible she could have fallen in love with him? Did she want to marry him after all?" Robin finally blinked, but nobody made a sound, not even a sigh. "Somebody answer me!" He screamed with passion, instantly popping the veins in his neck to astronomical proportions, his sweat tearing out of each pore, his insecurity blaring to the sky. Robin removed a knife from his belt, the motion simply a flash, and gouged the blunt blade into the hearty trunk of a nearby tree. Its bark became shrapnel as hot tears threatened him.

"Robin…" Djaq tried to help with a soothing tone.

"I'm supposed to spend my life with her!"

"Is this a life for Marian, though?"

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, Djaq, I am your leader –"

"And I am a woman. She wants more than this."

"If you feel the same way, don't think I would miss having you around, either!" His selfishness spat, but she knew he didn't mean it. He didn't mean anything, not now; now, he had just as little value as his words. Hood collapsed on the moist forest floor and did not care that leaves were adhering to him like negative emotions. The outlaw caved in to his escalating desire and, for the first time, cried in front of each and every member he had trained.


	19. Soon Enough

Lucy hummed as her fingers fiddled endlessly with the ribbons dripping from the cradle in her bedroom. Although her body recommended another month or two before was child was ready for the world, the young wife simply could not wait. She had draped the baby's bed in linens and decorations and religiously put a vase of fresh flowers by it each morning. It was silly, she realized, but it helped to pass the time while her husband labored away in London for the Englishmen in Acre. A knocking came to her door.

"Ma'am?" a maid poked into the room, "We received a letter from the Prince's Army. Sir Guy should be back by this month's end."

"Oh, wonderful." She smiled as she began to climb into her feather down bed, the mattress conforming to her growing shape.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Don't worry about me… go home to your kids, Alice."

"I will see you for breakfast."

"I look forward to it." With that the maid vanished and clicked the door shut. Lucy leaned over to blow out the hazy orange glow from the candle that warmed the room with light; she could feel the fatigue of having to craft together a set of lungs from thin air and so it did not take long at all for her to reach a state of fading consciousness. Through the floorboards she could hear the shuffling of feet as Alice called it a night, the opening of the front door being one of the final things she could focus on as the baby Gisborne demanded rest.

In Nottingham castle wax continued to burn as Marian furiously scribbled over half a dozen sheets of paper, her feather pen scratching along and etching letters to Gisborne. She readjusted her shawl as it slipped down her shoulder, the thin nightgown giving her a chill as she sat surrounded by cold stone in her chambers. Occasionally the clink of silver skinned guards would wind up and down the halls on patrol. Her blue eyes had red creeping in as emotion and the taste or sleep plagued her. Marian's notes grew longer and longer as she confessed more and more; admitting her denial of him over the delusion that Robin Hood could prevail over his power, intelligence, and love. But she was wrong. Oh, she was so wrong and she wanted nothing more than to be curled up in his arms, the tiny feet of his baby pressing against her womb. She wanted to see Lucy cast aside and in the rain, just as she had been.

Marian was embarrassed, she could not believe the childish jealousy that coursed through her veins, but she could not halt it, either. She was shaken with the guilt of having to tell Robin. She realized, though, that the sadness was because he undoubtedly sat in shrubs now licking his wounds. Marian did not feel anything else; it was a clean break from his side. Over the past several months she felt herself grow and evolve, the hunger for adventure shrinking in a drought of interest. Marian supposed she had grown up; but where had her refusal to act like an adult put her? The inkling of her being a noble was now dissolved, a ghost, a memory. The only man who still professed interest in her could provide nothing to anyone but his own ego from spite of the men in power. She had no hope for a child or manor anytime soon with Robin, and it hurt. Marian's lip trembled in an overwhelmed pot of hope and hatred for her choices as she tucked her notes inside an envelope, their purpose a pure beg to Guy to reconsider. After all, that baby had not been born yet… could he really be that attached to it?

Weeks washed over Nottingham with no reply from London. Marian grew uncomfortable. The crispness of leaves rustled in the wind as October passed her window, the season developing into a brisk wind with a light chill. With a fit of restlessness she rode again to Locksley, her mind agonizing over what he had done with her letter. Perhaps he burned it, perhaps he agreed with her and did not want evidence of his infidelity, perhaps it had been lost. He had not been to Nottingham – was he still in London? Did he go to his home? She simply had to know his answer. She strapped her mare into the saddle and headed again to his acquired manor, avoiding Sherwood Forest as much as was possible, as fall nipped at her cheeks.

In the village farmers were as busy as ever harvesting their fall crop, hurrying before the soil inevitably frosted for the mean spirited winter of England. They jarred and boxed their crops in the hopes of having food for their children. Some women were pawning off extra squash for the cash required as weather became more vicious at the close of the year. Lucy was excited, she adored market days, and did not pay much mind anymore to the armored escorts that traced her every step in Gisborne's absence. It felt good to give back her money to the poor, of course, but the vegetables were nothing short of fresh and soothing in a stew on cool nights. She ran one hand over firm pumpkins for sale as her other palm massaged her stomach, the hits from her baby becoming stronger each time. Her frame was still slender through the arms, her height still short, but her abdomen had swollen wider than her own hips. Lucy's stomach curled back up with an ache where she carried so much weight on such small feet, but she could not be happier. Except for all these damn kicks…

She took in a deep breath again to regain composure after another bombardment. Her hand froze in the middle of exchanging crowns with a farmer's wife but she played it off. With an innocent smile Lucy convinced one of her keepers to haul the pumpkins back to the manor for supper, the deep violet veil over her hair brushing in the wind. The three of Gisborne's followers proceeded down another lane of the market where jewelry was available and being strung at the table.

"Good morrow, my lady." The jeweler was polite; Lucy had done no wrong to anyone in the village. Not yet. There were still sects of townsfolk, though, that were counting the days and placing bets on when he would poison her personality.

"Hello." Lucy tried with a grimace, but she couldn't keep her cellophane smile for long. The craftswoman watched as her bony fingers dug into the rim of the table. A hot razor sliced at Lucy's womb as she attempted to resist curling over.

"Are you alright?" She stood and went to the noble along with the free guard, who, as a man, had no idea how to assist her.

"Fine. This baby, though… he is just dying to go sprinting apparently." A sweat came to the pregnant woman's brow, her hands grabbing again as a boiling ache hit her.

"I'd say," she gingerly examined Lucy's belly, her gray hair slowly slumping out of its bun, "He's sprinting right out of there."

"No, no, no," Lucy quickly butted in, "it's only been eight months. My husband is in London… I'm fine."

"I've had five of these happen, my lady, trust me. It's coming." She grabbed a carved cross and put it into Lucy's hand as the guard who was buried in pumpkins commanded a physician be called.

"I'm not ready." She whispered as the chainmail drowned henchman held her back and rushed the waddling woman back to the manor. Inside the maids instantly recognized her groans as the start of labor, her shallow breaths interrupted on occasion by a moan of searing pain. The second guard tossed the squash into the kitchen and ran to snag the medicine man, his partner seeking a messenger in haste. A good twenty minutes must have flashed as Lucy struggled up the stairs with the help of her servants before a doctor bothered to arrive. Beside him was a midwife, her appearance as youthful as Lucy.

"My lady," the doctor bowed slightly as they entered her chambers, "This is Phoebe. She will be delivering your baby."

"Have you done this before?" The words flew from her quickly as her skin blistered as if in a furnace. It was damn hot in there to her.

"I've helped with several deliveries."

"Have you _done _any?"

"Um, with horses, yes."

"Shit," Lucy cried out, lacking the filter of her femininity, "isn't there anyone fit to do this?"

"The Sherriff's doctor has been called –"

"I want my husband. I want my husband! I'm not letting this thing out until he's here." Lucy felt tears break down her cheeks between the moistness of perspiration as women buzzed around with buckets and water and blankets. The cook appeared and began to fan her as the midwife took a hold of Lady Gisborne's ankles and took a peek.

"That baby's not asking, ma'am." She noted as Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. It suddenly felt different; her water had shattered. Out in the hall the clanking of armor rang.

"My Lady," he shyly called from the hall, "A pigeon has been sent. It should arrive in London in about two hours. Master Gisborne ought to be able to arrive on a four and a half hour ride –"

"You want me to wait six hours?" Lucy heard herself scream, hormones and horror hijacking her body. The midwife and a maid were tucking piles of sheets around her as washing basins were brought in.

"You can't wait." The midwife repeated.

"Dammit, I know!" She shrieked again as another contraction pounded into her petite body. Lucy lied in her bed, the sun burning through the curtains and shining directly into her eyes. She was terrified and alone. Another hour agonizingly ripped at her skin before Vaisey's private physician arrived, bag in hand, worry on his brow. Each of these workers knew exactly what was riding on them, the pressure of Gisborne weighing them down even though he was more than a hundred miles south.

"My dear, stay calm," The older gentleman instructed, "It will ease the birth." Lucy clung tightly to the cross in her palm.

"How many women have you seen die doing this?" She asked with a hush of concentrated fear. The doctor glanced away and back again, which crushed her.

"Stay calm," He repeated, "This baby will be out soon enough."


	20. Congratulations

Guy of Gisborne did not bother to properly secure his stallion once he tore back into Locksley. Without much thought he slammed the gate shut on the animal and let him remain in his cell fully dressed in his saddle and bridle; the horse struggled for air as he finally rested from the hours between here and Prince John. Guy burst into his home with bewildered eyes and aching legs from the ride. Downstairs were a handful of guards, ordered to watch Lucy and Vaisey's physician, and they did little more than stand awkwardly in their master's home, cradling their helmets as sporadic screams waved in from upstairs. Again he heard her shriek out in intense pain, wincing as his heart wrenched.

"Still?" He asked a worker.

"Guess so. I haven't been in, Sir. That's women's business." The soldier replied with sleepiness in his eyes. Dusk was only starting, but the men had gathered and lit candles with nothing else to do. Guy hurried himself up the creaking steps to the scene of interest, not bothering to knock before coming into the drama. The two male physicians were on either side of her, their fading hair glistening in the flickers of flames. The midwife sat buried under a sheet cover that stretched across Lucy's knees as her legs shook in what had to be agony. Three maids were also in attendance; one was sponging Lucy's red forehead with cool water while the others held her clammy and clenching hands. The first thing he noticed, though, was his wife crying uncontrollably. He nudged away a servant and sat beside her, trying not to give into the starving curiosity to see the situation under the sheets.

"Lucy, I'm here. I'm here." Gisborne whispered as he plucked matted hair from her sweaty cheek. She opened her eyes and looked into his blue stare of fear, a mild relief breaking over her.

"Guy…" She cooed with a momentary grin before another contraction beat her stomach.

"It took me five hours to get here, how are you not done?" He barked at Vaisey's doctor, darting a steely glare into him.

"My lord," he set a hand on Lucy's knee and leaned in to the man in black, "this is a very hard process."

"Get it done. Dammit, can't you see it's hurting her?"

"The baby is stuck, Sire. The shoulders are too wide; it's a common problem for women so petite as your wife –"

"Good, you know how to fix it then!" He spat with a seething fury.

"Guy," Lucy called out, grabbing desperately at his arm, "I can't. I just can't, it hurts –"

"Of course you can," he cheered her on, his voice settled into a calm like an ocean breeze, "you are so brave and wonderful. Look at you, Lucy, you made a baby. A whole baby! All you have to do is get it out." She yelped out again, cutting him off while yanking at the sleeve of her husband's coat.

"My lord, perhaps you should wait downstairs with the rest of the gentlemen." Locksley's doctor recommended as he fished and rifled through his worn medical supply bag. Gisborne glanced to see his wife's answer, but she was too wrapped up in the hormones and torture that were anchoring into her body. With a quick kiss on her forehead he left, fumbling down the steps, a nervousness evident on his hard face. One of his guards offered a goblet of wine that the landlord gladly accepted, swirling it down his throat with a heavy breath. None of them spoke.

Crying and shouting continued, grew, and eventually became so common that the men hardly noticed as it ceased. It seemed like several lifetimes, but eventually one of the medicine men filed down to the ground floor, his touch to Guy's shoulder ginger and reserved. The short man pursed his lips and watched as Gisborne's clear eyes assumed the worse.

"My lord," the physician swallowed with weariness in his expression, "your baby is ready for you." A solemnness contaminated his steps as he helped himself out. Guy looked to the floor, his shoulders slumping a bit, a stone pulling down his lungs. There were not any words that could have been used to assuage the terror that iced his heart. His Adam's apple was on fire – why did the doctor look so sad? Why was it so quiet? For the first time in the night Gisborne took the time to slide out of his leather coat before trudging up to his wife's bedroom. There was a marked hesitation before he entered. If she had died, did he really want to see her that way, sprawled out and icy cold in the attempt to give him a son? He would have to enter at some point. Guy pushed his sleeves up and went into the small room, noticing the candles whittling into nubs on the table beside the door. Blankets and sheets were soaked in ruby red and covered half the room, the familiar sight of blood at first meaning nothing. The smell of it was lost on him. It took several moments for his brain to process the idea that all of this was hers, it used to be inside her, but pain had sucked it out.

"My lord," the midwife meekly grinned as she slipped past him to exit, "have a good evening." His eyes darted to the bed where the maids sat around Lucy, their fingers all squiggling around a tightly wrapped blanket. They immediately made room for Gisborne as he approached, intensity glued into his brows, and set a hand on the bedpost.

Lucy rolled to the side and smiled at him, weariness obvious as her eyelids sank further with each blink. In her arms was a swaddled child, the flesh pink with newness, a quiet slumber making a peaceful face. Lady Gisborne sat up as her husband tumbled to his knees by the bed and and put a hand on her temple. Lucy let out a small laugh as he kissed her and gawked in awe at the small human she held. Guy brushed two fingers along the forehead of the baby, refusing to admit a wetness came to his eyes, and swiped at the couple of wisps of hair that were on the head.

"We made a baby." Lucy excitedly whispered as she bounced the child slightly. He had never seen this much joy on her face in the year that he had known her. It was then he realized it had, in fact, been a year. A little more than twelve months ago she was a tool, a pretty face, but now… now she was the mother of his child.

"I love you, Lucy."

"I love you, Guy. So very much; and I love our family."

"It's a beautiful family," he agreed as he again brushed the tender cheek of the infant, "what shall we name it?"

"I don't know, I've been a bit busy," she joked, "Thought you may have some suggestions."

"It needs to be a strong name, one that does the Gisborne title proud"

"I agree."

"He's going to be a very important man."

"She."

"Beg pardon?"

"She. It's a girl," Lucy held the infant a bit higher with a glowing smile, "This is our daughter." The baby tried a small licking of the lips before settling as Gisborne stared at it. Lines creased his face as a frown weighed down his lips. He shot his eyes to Lucy's with a dark stare, looking back to the baby, then again to his wife. Guy stood and sneered, clear disgust in his face as he surveyed up and down Lucy's body. She had failed him.

"You bitch." He muttered.

"Guy! I didn't get to pick –"

"You made it!" Gisborne suddenly shouted.

"We did, Guy, this is _our _daughter and there is no reason for you to love her any differently." Lucy held the child a bit closer to her chest in maternal protection, her nerves frayed form delivery and hosting no room for his alpha male ignorance.

"She will never be a Sherriff."

"Not if you say she can't." Was the retort. Guy slammed his hand into the bedpost and stormed out of the room, months of anticipation wasted. He had even said to Prince John before departing that he was headed to see the successor of their work. Like fine sand, the materials with which to build his throne in Nottingham sunk into the ground, sliding between his fingers, unable to be contained even with desperate grasps. His title would dissolve if they did not have a son. There would be no such thing as the Gisborne name if all Lucy would pop out were cloth dyers and housewives. He was engulfed with fury. He pounded downstairs with a hardened jaw of anger that the guards were not unfamiliar with.

"Is she alright?" One of them bravely questioned.

"It's a girl." Gisborne scoffed, tossing his goblet into the wall after he sucked down the booze. The silver squad exchanged glances, instantly understanding the issue.

"Congratulations." Another meekly said. Guy turned to the battalion seated at his table.

"Get out."


	21. Hello There

Several days later the tension and the tantrums between husband and wife had evaporated, leaving only a weary father and fatigued mother. As Guy returned to Locksley for the evening he found himself drained. The constant runs between here and Nottingham were mind numbing, and when he did return home it was nothing but women chattering on and on about the baby, who never seemed to be bothered by the fact that she was carted around regularly and pushed in his face. In his selfishness Gisborne did not bother to consider or recognize the toll on Lucy; at twenty-one she was shut up inside to care for the infant who had nearly killed her being birthed, and where was her husband's help?

An autumn breeze flowed through the gray skies surrounding the manor, scattering leaves and tender petals to gently fall upon the grass. After securing his ride into the onsite stable, the vengeful man of leather couldn't help but notice the ghostly murmur of voices from behind the house. He crunched over gravel and crushed through wispy grass to reach the rear of the manor where tall hazelnut trees cradled an opening of lawn and flora that was decorated by patches of vegetable beds. In the green sat Lucy, baby in hand, bouncing her up and down with exaggerated and affectionate expression while one of the nannies ranted on about something or another. The wet nurse noticed him first.

"Good evening, Sir Guy. I hope all is well." She stood from the yard and brushed off green strings of grass from her gown to appear more presentable, but her master hardly gave her a glance.

"Lucy, maybe you should go indoors. I don't want you catching a cold in this weather."

"But we don't want to go inside," the mother half sang without diverting her gaze and games from her child, "We're tired of inside. Yes we are! Yes we are!" She burst out in a chuckle as their daughter awkwardly grew a crooked grin at Lucy's headshaking and banter.

"Lucy…" Gisborne's chin lowered and his tone became thicker than his patience. She finally looked over to him with innocence, infant sprawled on her lap, and patted a palm onto the fuzzy and patchy lawn. He did not budge.

"Come have a talk with me then we can go inside. I promise." She ignored the heavy sigh of her husband as he reluctantly came over.

"Faye, go in and help with supper," he dismissed the nanny, "We will be there shortly." Guy lowered himself to the ground with little haste or dexterity, his spine aching and squirming from the horse ride. Another push of air ran through the trees and blew the curls of their hair to the side. His hand brushed against a cloth doll as he readjusted.

"I miss you."

"I missed seeing you today as w –"

"No, Guy, I miss you. You. I am so in love with you, you charming and brilliant man; but you're always so grumpy lately –" Lucy put a hand to his knee when he scoffed, "Exactly! I'm worried about you, I'm worried about… do you still love me?"

"What?"

"I know you're angry that I didn't give you a son and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. But please remember why we got married."

"Lucy," he ran his fingers through her golden hair and ran down her back, "You worry that pretty little head of yours too much. Your humors are so out of balance after this baby… I don't want you to worry about anything. Of course I love you; we have a wonderful life here."

"Okay." Lucy beamed with relief. Gisborne was not known to be a wildly passionate man, nor did he create prolific speeches of adoration or unfold the map of his emotions and feelings. But she had learned the language of his restrained and suppressed confessions. She had no doubt in her mind that he was admitting as much pure romance as a bard who could create an hour long song.

"I apologize if I have been… absent. Things are not going well in the war."

"Really? I heard King Richard was making a comeback."

"It's complicated," Guy eventually replied while removing his gloves and releasing a solid breath, ignoring to mention he was rooting for John, "Politics, definitely a man's burden."

"Well, I'm proud you're so intelligent and that you can handle all of those military things. Very attractive." Lucy flirted, her facing breaking apart a mask seriousness. Her husband smiled at her laugh and wrapped his arm around her slim shoulders, kissing behind her ear, and for the first time today watching the mostly motionless infant that rested on her thighs. The baby had strokes of dark blonde hair waving across her squishable skull and giant blue eyes that matched her father's. This child had been alive for a week, he realized, and Gisborne was just now learning what color her eyes were. A chilled grip of guilt prodded at his stomach; he had avoided this baby like a harsh disease. To be fair, she had intervened and denied him a seat above Nottingham, stolen his ability to wield fire through the county, thieved away his succession to be Sherriff. Yet now he found himself in a trance seeing her attempt to figure out what her lips were.

"What did you name her?"

"I haven't. She's your daughter, too, and wearing your title. You should get to choose. I was thinking, though, maybe something pretty like June or April."

"June of Gisborne? No," his nose crinkled, "She is not a peasant. It has to be regal and powerful, like… I don't know, Jacqueline or Elizabeth or something."

"Elizabeth," Lucy repeated thoughtfully, "I like it. She can be our little Libby." The mother took her daughters fragile fists into both of her hands and began to make another set of peculiar faces to charm her. Guy was surprised to find his lips curling up on the side, a glimmer of joy and peace uncovered from his wife's glow of maternal pleasure. He rubbed his hand along the small of her back, its curvature bent over so that she could play with the child.

"Elizabeth of Gisborne." Guy muttered with a drip of satisfaction and, dare he say, pride over his creation. She was not an heir, nor would she carry the brazen title for generations to come, but he had created her. His infatuated love with his wife had built a person, an entire human being, that mixed his very own blood with that of Lucy. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked to a stance as he came to this realization. It felt as if Gisborne was drifting on his back through an ocean, the grass beneath him absent, his worries and afflictions miles away on shore. He became awe struck when he actually realized how much he cared for this body that had only existed for eight days. Lucy picked Libby up and nudged her over to her father, who did not even flinch. His stare did not falter as his eyebrows lifted up as if to ask what she thought she was doing.

"You haven't held her yet." Lucy whispered with a softness that was laced with love. She had a way of speaking through a smile that Guy could never say no to. He opened his mouth, refusal on his tongue, when the baby Gisborne stretched out a pink arm and clumsily swung at a buckle on his jacket, her motion slow, her motor skills non-existent. As she grew in the womb Elizabeth's mind was constructed to be attached to Lucy, and yet here she was, aching to make an effort to know Guy. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to be embraced in his arms. This brought a swelling happiness that was so full it harmed him a little; Lucy had chosen to fall in love with him and crave him. That was magical. Here sat Elizabeth, though, not even able to recognize the fundamental concept of parents or adoration, and yet she reached for him. Guy's broken heart could feel each pierce as a needle stitched it back together.

"Hello there." He muttered to his daughter as he slid her away from Lucy. He had never touched anything so carefully in his life; a paranoia that the very heat from his skin could possibly break her overwhelming him. His wife helped him to adjust his hands so that he cradled her flopping head upright, her swaddled body pressed to his chest, his giddiness and exuberance undisguisable. Guy could not shake the foolish grin that began to hurt his cheeks with its enthusiasm. Libby swiped her arms across the buckles he wore with the speed and aim of an alcoholic, and yet it was perfect. It was all so perfect.

Lucy folded up her legs as she watched her husband shift their child into the crook of his elbow, his face like nothing she had seen on him before. In this moment she discarded his accusations and anger into oblivion; she had always known he did not hate her for failing to meet some degree of expectation. He was a busy man, a burdened man, one of such high importance that Gisborne required a son. Lucy burst with excitement at thinking they would have another baby, another piece of the family, another moment like this where she could see him become introduced to his own flesh. Her hand touched her stomach that had slowly begun to fade back down; as much as she wanted this, Lucy would definitely wait much longer before being so hard on her body again.


	22. Desire

Hey, y'all! Thank you, as always, for your support. I do hope you enjoy! Don't forget to pop a review in the box at the bottom!

Guy held onto Libby's foot gingerly, shaking it with a playfulness that charmed her as yawns overpowered the infant noble's ability to stay awake. By now, the pair were simply inseparable. He nuzzled into the royal blue blanket that enveloped her and mimicked the smile his daughter had. Guy was painfully aware, however, of the time and could not deny that the sun was nearly over the horizon for the morning. Reluctantly he passed Elizabeth off to one of the servants so that she could continue the sleep her tiny body demanded; as a month old infant she did not recognize or care that they were being pulled apart, yet Gisborne knew it would be a good twelve hours until they were together again. As the baby went to be tucked in he found his way to his wife who was just about to head downstairs for breakfast. As Lucy placed a left foot on the first step, Guy laced his arm around her waist and teasingly yanked her back up to him.

"Good morrow!" She giggled as he kissed the back of her neck.

"Good morrow, Lady Gisborne." He slyly answered before she spun to him to kiss his lips.

"Any plans in the castle for today?"

"I have some plans for this morning." Guy cocked his head to the side and worked his hands down her back with a heated implication, his heart and body yearning for her company after so long apart due to the birth of their child. He leaned a bit so that he could be face to face with her petite stature, Lucy popping up onto her toes to kiss him. His fingers continued until firmly gripping her rear in his hands, his devilish smile uncontainable.

"Guy," she laughed, "Stop!"

"Why would I do that?"

"Stop!" Teasingly she swatted at her husband's chest before he held her ribs and lifted the short girl up to his level, the fabric of her dress cascading to brush above the floorboards. Gisborne tucked her into the crook of his wrapped arm and carried his blushing wife two doors down to his chambers, her torso bending over his shoulder, her feet swinging in the air. Lucy was carefully tossed onto the wide mattress. The curtains around the windows were a sheer sage which allowed shades of pink and orange to tint the room as the sun rose to ignite Locksley for the day. Random bursts of chirping floated in through the window, but he certainly did not notice. Guy wasted no time before joining her on the bed, her youthful laughter infectious as he nimbly disassembled the ties on her bodice.

"I have waited so long for this…" Gisborne told her with a carnal hunger, remembering each night she refused him as her body swelled to a point of discomfort in pregnancy. For months he had craved his wife, and now he had her.

"Guy…" she whispered to him with uncertainty, "Are you sure?" She took her hands and pressed them against his shoulders to separate them a bit. He did not pay her any attention as his kisses went down her neck and his hands went up her gown. "Really, Guy, wait."

"What?"

"I don't know if now's the time."

"I can be late to Nottingham."

"I just had a baby, I don't think I'm really ready for –"

"I thought you wanted to keep your husband happy?" His warm breath caressed her cheek as their noses touched, his voice stern with a falsified tenderness. Gisborne narrowed his eyelids as Lucy's green eyes glanced up to the ceiling. She slowly intertwined her fingers into his lengthy raven hair and put her lips to his. She separated her knees and tucked her feet under his ankles, as if they were holding hands, and felt a minute shiver as Guy traced his hand up her opening thigh. "See how much better this is? There's my good girl."

The rest of the day was rather uneventful for the man in black as he paced around the stone fortress of the capital city. He had bashed drills into hundreds of soldiers and filled out a million records for the taxes he snatched from withered and starving hands; all in a day's work. Occasionally through the afternoon he had considered seeing his daughter after supper, but mostly he thirsted for another sample of her mother. Something about having control over her slim body gave him such a rush, such a surge of authority, such a monumental injection of validation that he could not resist the itch. For the final time in this evening Gisborne stocked away the halberds of the training grounds and left. His steps were rhythmic on the echoing stone of the corridors, his boots scuffing along before hearing his name being called. From up a spiraling staircase Marian materialized and smiled, her auburn curls brushing her crimson dress.

"Guy, I was hoping to see you this evening."

"You were?" His eyebrows popped up, clear blue eyes fluttering a couple of blinks. They had not spoken in weeks; she had matched his devotion to avoiding one another flawlessly.

"I thought we could talk, about London?"

"That's classified information."

"Oh, I'm not too worried about the war; it's too gruesome for my taste. We need to discuss the… other things."

"What things?"

"The letters." Marian sheepishly mentioned as she fidgeted with stray pieces of hair over her shoulder.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"The ones I sent you in London."

"I left early," Gisborne shook his head and proceeded to stand at the base of the steps, "Never received any letters."

"Oh," She felt a weight punch into her lungs. For a month she had agonized over his reply to her confession of love, of apology, of begging. Yet he hadn't even been aware that she was denying her life of vigilante crime for his embrace. She had pleaded him to leave his wife in hastily scribbled notes and now she had to work up the courage in person, "I think I have copies up in my chambers – let me fetch them." Marian skipped up the cold gray hall and quickly slipped into her own room with a hardness on her pounding heart. Guy rubbed the back of his neck and refused to follow her for several moments, his mind reaching back to Locksley, but eventually he succumbed to the curiosity.

They had not spoken for nearly two months. Even at meals in Nottingham both of their blue eyes averted, the air between them stale and lacking sustenance. Gisborne had assumed with relief that she had abandoned her pursuit and accepted that she was not, in fact, appealing to him anymore. Marian was gorgeous and intoxicatingly regal at events, but after several years he realized she did not fit the mold of what he needed.

He followed her up to her chambers and ignored the politeness to knock before entering. He swept in impatiently and stepped towards the desk, his gut shriveling in regret only when she shut the door behind him and flicked over the lock. Guy sifted through a few sheets of written pages before looking up to see her leaning against the door, her brown hair falling all around her creamy shoulders as her dress lie helplessly on the floor. He scoffed and slacked his jaw, turning slightly to the side as Marian posed in nothing but her nearly sheer under-gown. For a slight second he laughed, mocking the absurdity of the situation, shocked at the forwardness of her attitude, and embarrassed at his draw to watch her.

"I doubt you wrote a letter along these lines."

"I definitely wrote about feelings for you," She came towards him with an immense and captivating calm while not breaking seductive eye contact, "I may have accidentally left out the physical ones."

"You realize I left London because my wife had our first child." Guy tightened up in his leather and crossed over to the window, swallowing down his Adam's apple, grabbing at the self-control he felt liquefying and melting away. He focused on his daughter.

"I realize she didn't give you the son you want. I mean, you want to be Sherriff, don't you? I want to see you there on that throne, Guy, you would be amazing."

"I would."

"Maybe you need a real woman to get you there. Not some child; she's not even a noble. Not really."

"She's wonderful."

"As are you," Marian put her hands to his hips as he spun to her, "And I have faith that you can be so much more."

"What do you want?" Gisborne falsified composure as her lips brushed his chin. She was several inches taller than Lucy, her need for him so appealing and fulfilling.

"You, Guy, I want you." Marian ran her hand over his cheek and shot him with a cold shiver. His eyes closed as his hands found her hips. He stared deep into her eyes with an unreadable vacancy; his lips sat apart as all of the blood crept to a halt in his brain. Guy immediately ceased to think.

"I'm married."

"I know, and I realized that I'm okay with that. We don't need to be husband and wife, we just need to have each other," Marian pressed up to him and smiled at the pleasure he was poorly masking, "We can have a cottage in Nettlestone, maybe Clun. Anywhere. I will be there for you, Guy, in our home with our children."

"Children?"

"I want to have your son. I want to give you your heir and help you get the recognition you deserve."

"Shit, Marian, no, don't do this to me."

"I love you." She smiled. In a snap of motion Gisborne crushed their mouths together, his hands holding tightly to the back of her head, his chest pressing into hers, their words becoming useless. Darkness began to creep in through the window as evening wrapped around them, the black of night incomparable to the thickness of sin that he hungered to commit. Guy refused to separate their lips at any cost, even at the price of his family dissolving in his memory.


	23. Two Out of Three Ain't Bad

Gisborne took a breath and separated his flesh from that of Marian of Knighton; her passionate pounce on him was quite the surprise. He had, in fact, begun his relationship with Lucy in order to coerce this savory moment and yet it felt… strange. He did not have feelings for Marian by any means. She had burned and marred his soul far too much; the scabs of her wounds were impenetrably thick and resilient. But for the first time in this very room he was in charge of her. She had no smart quips, no ruffled feathers, no bratty attitude. She had a desire to please and to finally hand him the trophy he had crawled through shattered glass for. Guy stepped towards her bed and pulled himself from his black jacket, all of the juices in his brain focusing on other urges instead of attempting to slot together any logical ideas. He sat on the edge of the bed and waved the brunette over. As Marian complied, he drank in what he was seeing. The thin white underdress she donned left no curiosity at what she offered. Her body was voluptuous and curved, her legs infinitely long, her shape full and womanly. She did not look anything like his wife at all. He sat her on his lap and kissed her with an excitement for tasting something out of his ordinary routine.

"I love you," Marian repeated with a whisper, "I do. I can't believe I never realized it. I want to be with you so badly, I want to right all of the wrong I did to you."

"I want you, too."

"I mean it, Guy. I'm so sorry I didn't realize how much I need you, I'm sorry. But now we can have everything together." She smiled as he flipped her to lie on the mattress. It had been only twelve hours since he had last lain with a different woman, but Gisborne was manually rejecting that memory. After a few more kisses Guy was over the edge of reason, his body no longer under his control, his mind in a realm of taking. He was, after all, practically a god. He deserved every single morsel he craved, and no one could tell him otherwise.

Back in Locksley Lucy checked for a third time on her tiny daughter. The baby noble was in a deep sleep in the hand carved crib, but she could not find any type of peace. Going to bed was out of the question – where was her husband? Guy had said he would be home this evening, and yet supper passed alone, as did the rising moon. The cold of October beat at the windows of the manor as Lucy proceeded back downstairs to curl up near the crackling and raging flames in the fireplace.

"I really don't think you need to worry, dear," Alice mentioned as she served up a cup of barley tea, "There have been a few times Master Gisborne is simply too tired to ride back if he was working late."

"But what if he was attacked by bandits in the woods or something?"

"You think he can't handle a couple of outlaws? I have seen him do much worse to – well, I'm sure he's safe."

"Thank you." The new mother put on a tight grin and sipped at the warming drink, its swirling heating her throat in the chilly, wind stricken night. Lucy did not bother to keep a ladylike manner in front of the maid, so she pulled up her feet onto the chair with her. As stars burned above England in the night, she fell all at once into a sleep that crept up from behind her, seducing her in an instant, passing the evening with no more notice of her husband's absence.

A freezing wind whipped around the towers of Nottingham's already cold and apathetic castle towers. Lady Knighton laughed with a fullness of joy as she lifted the shirt off of her bed mate. Their kisses were hard, passionate, and physical more than emotional. Gisborne's hands tingled with the giddiness of holding Marian, his trophy, his prized hunt. But as more of his clothing slipped away so did his confidence; each time a curl of her hair draped onto his skin, he could only see Lucy pinning up her golden locks each morning while singing softly to herself. As Marian ran a hand down his chest, Guy would recall how his daughter Libby brushed against him in her excited squirms. When she wrapped her arms and legs around his back, he remembered how he had held his wife for two hours without release after their wedding. Gisborne had always hated himself and his inability to reach the highest rung of his potential; he was great, so great, yet no one else could recognize that he had no limits. Now, as the burning candlelight tickled his naked skin, he learned that they were right. Perhaps his potential was infinite. Maybe he could conquer all that his heart ached for. But he was not, and could not, be worth a drop of affection or praise because he was shit. Guy of Gisborne was a waste of breath. He could spend an eternity huffing out hot breath in screams of what he wanted and deserved, but he would never go grab it; and apparently once he had it he would throw it away on a cheap distraction. He had salvaged together a life in a year with the most doting and selfless wife in northern England; but now temptation was lying on the mattress under him. Adultery called his name as Marian's plump lips of infidelity drew close to him for another kiss. He was shit.

Abruptly Guy tore her hands off of his neck and sat up onto his knees, turning to stand. Shock hardened her brows as she sat up, bolting upright in the nude, when he starting stuffing himself back into his shirt.

"What are you doing?" She rudely asked. Marian slid off the side of the bed and swiftly made a grab at his belt when he laced it on, but she missed. His crystal blue eyes were suddenly like stone. The disgruntled expression was not one that was unfamiliar in the castle, but her huffy attitude was much more childish than the guards would recognize.

"I have nothing here." Gisborne eventually answered as his feet shuffled to the door, haste evident, clothes put on frumpily.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. I promise you, we could have everything… I mean it. You have me and my love; once we get a house out somewhere we will have –"

"I am not living with you," he turned with a sudden harshness covering his expression, "I'll be damned if for one second you think that." As his palm gripped the door Marian slithered herself between his body and the wood.

"Well, I understand you have to live with your legal wife, but you can always visit –"

"Marian, I hope I never see you again in my life." The brutal honesty in his eyes horrified her as she searched for the root of some cruel joke.

"Guy, we can have an heir. Your heir."

"I will have one, and it will have nothing to do with you."

"I told you that I loved you." A stoniness crept into her tone as her hands began to tremble.

"I have always wanted you," Gisborne's stare bored into her watery blue eyes, "Hell, I want you right now.. For years I have needed you… but Marian, I will never love you. I will have a family and it will have nothing to do with you, a woman who entices married men like some prostitute. I will never love you and I will never want to, so I suggest you leave me be." With that he charged out the door and vanished, leaving the brunette in utter numbness, shock, and paranoia; she crossed her legs together and clutched onto her folded arms in agony.

In her attempt to worm into using him, Guy had touched her body and disposed of her like food scraps. It ached her heart that after such pent up arousal, such hot kissing, such expectation that he had never even joined into her, and yet her purpose was seemingly used up. Marian's depression did not last long, though. It evolved into a rage that ignited her skin with blotches of red and hatred, the tears that exploded from her boiling hot, the tantrum of shattering objects around the room covering her animal like cries. How dare he? How dare Gisborne so much as brush against her skin with that self-cherishing vanity and pride? How dare that stupid peasant take him away to Locksley to drag him down with bratty kids? How dare she hold him in such an iron grasp and tear him away from Nottingham, from Marian? The brunette swore up a storm and screamed until her vocal cords were cooked raw and stung. Her hands snatched at jewelry he had gifted her years ago and ripped them all apart; he had humiliated her for the last time. That bitch he married would pay.

Lucy felt a claw yank down on her heart as she was startled awake by the hand on her head. Her legs sprawled down from the chair and she violently flinched, squeaking in surprise before both of the man's hands pulled her shoulders back into the seat.

"Relax, it's me. I'm sorry," Guy looked down into her swollen emerald eyes as she let out a sigh and regained her cool, "I didn't mean to startle you." He brushed neck with his fingers as he stood behind her in the seat. Orange radiated off of the dead wood that had been burning through the evening.

"Is it morning?"

"Not yet."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Guy kissed the crown of her head, "I'm perfect as long as I have you."

"I was so worried, what took you so long?" Lucy drowsily cocked her head back so that they could see each other; she mistook his hesitance in answering as a sign of fatigue.

"Don't concern yourself with it; just some business in the castle that I hope to never do again."

"You should rest before you go back tomorrow."

"Yeah… Lucy, I love you."

"I love you, too honey."

"I mean it," he hunkered down and pressed his warm breath into her ear with sincerity and romance, "I love you more than I thought I could ever care about a person. You haven't just improved my life – you are my life. I can't live without you because you are simply perfect. I will never, _never _hurt you, I promise. I promise, Lucy. I love you."

"I love you, too." She fluttered her lashes with a clear loss on the battlefront of sleepiness. Guy planted a kiss on her temple before bringing her up to her bed and tucking her in, her body only moments away from sliding back into slumber. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched his wife sleep for several minutes. He stroked his hand down her blonde hair and tried to come to terms with who he was, what he had, and what he had to sacrifice. Even though he knew there was no more need to gorge himself on alcohol and women, it was a tough addiction to break. But Gisborne realized that his life was not his own anymore. His heart and his soul were Lucy's, and his daughter took precedent over everything else in the universe. Gently he nudged his wife to the side and crept under the sheets to lie beside her, clinging tightly to her waist as he put his chest to her back. They held hands and slept in long after the sun came to greet the town, their dreams undisturbed. Lucy's brain whisked her away to a voyage on the ocean. Gisborne, meanwhile, imagined only lying in a field with Lucy and sweet Libby, and he could not have asked for anything more.


	24. Unstoppable

*** This chapter is a long one, but thanks for marching through it! Cheers! ***

Libby was unstoppable. Her passion for zooming through the house was a borderline nightmare as her crawls became tested and perfected, her rolling executed without a second thought. The eight month old baby scampered from the kitchen to the den and back again in record time, her bravery with the staircase just beginning. There had been a handful of times she found herself stranded halfway up the ascent, turned to check her progress, and panicked. This morning she made the same crucial error. A muted whine came from the hall as the Gisbornes shared a board of sliced fruit in the kitchen. With the flash of only a few bounds the father rushed to the infant's side, his face bringing her a glow and wide mouthed grin.

"There's my girl! Come here, Miss Elizabeth," he scooped her up into his arms with theatrical motion, "You are starting to drive me crazy, you know that?" The little girl scrunched her face with joy and squealed when Guy brought her to the kitchen.

"Honestly, I may just tie a cowbell to her." Lucy sighed. Libby waved and grabbed at the curling hair Gisborne had grown out, her wrinkled hands latching on to the shoulder length locks with the hopes of being able to chew them. She had thankfully passed through her phase of grumpy and agonizing teething but the appeal of gnawing things had not left nearly as easily.

"She's just curious like her dad." Guy gave Libby a wink before setting her back on the floorboards, a cool draft sucking into the house as the servants opened some windows for the sweet May morning. In the blink of an eye she was off again towards the kitchen cabinets, her coordination growing stronger with each passing moment, but her uncertainty in standing still haunted the girl. The parents watched as little Elizabeth pressed her palms firmly into the wood of the counter and let out a small grunt. She managed to slip one knee up and plant her foot to the ground, then after another minute, the other. Desperately she leaned against the furniture with anxiety yet sure enough she was standing on her own. Libby dragged herself about four steps along with a heavy lean before toppling back to a sit. The shock of it led her to another crying fit in a smack of fright. Lucy was quick to collect her and bounce the infant in her lap.

"I'm glad you're staying in Locksley today," She chirped as Gisborne strapped his belt and sword sheath to his waist, "That way you'll be home early for supper. Maybe we can have some wine and talk tonight?"

"Anything you want, my dearest." He angled down to kiss her as she remained seated at the table, his romantic goodbye always Lucy's favorite part of the day. In their string of smooches the always snooping Libby smacked at a dangling dagger from his body and managed to slither it out and onto the floor. The clank startled them and brought Lucy to yank the baby to her chest.

"Guy, be careful! I don't want those near her."

"I didn't tell her to grab it." He retorted before storing the weapon again.

"Why do you need that for tax day?"

"Pretty thing like you doesn't need to worry about that," He shook his head before kissing both ladies, "I'll see you later this afternoon."

"Alright, be careful. And please do be here early! I want to talk with you."

"Everything okay?"

"Pretty think like you doesn't need to worry about it." Lucy stuck her tongue out as he laughed and left them. Gisborne tugged at the collar of his leather jacket as he approached the awaiting guards; spring seemed to have a short affair with England before summer rolled in. The searingly bright sun beat down on him before midday arrived, and he did not look forward to the inevitable months of brutality to come.

He swiftly motioned for the small squadron of silver men to accompany him as their rounds of terror and theft began. Indiscriminately he ripped crowns from women and tore prized possessions from children; all of Prince John's dues were collected that afternoon. The brutes wound down the lanes with a method and eventually neared Locksley's towering church, its shadow covering the small waves that petted the neighboring pond. Guy kicked at another crate of cash to hurry the soldiers in their loading of the wagon before noticing the church doors burst open, exposing none other than Marian. He could have sworn she smiled before charging down the steps and breaking out into a distraught face.

"Guy! Thank goodness I finally found you! Please, we have to talk about the baby already!"

"Excuse me?" A sour, metallic taste coated his tongue as he tasted the idea of Libby on her lips; if only that's what she meant.

"You can't avoid me forever. I know you don't want to talk about it, but it's hard for me, too. What are we going to do about our child?"

"What?"

"Guy, please," Marian set her hands firmly on her stomach and falsified tears, "I know it's not what we wanted but you cannot leave us." At this point a cloud of villagers were seeping in, their curiosities piqued. She raised an eyebrow for a moment in wickedness.

"What the fuck are you on about?" Gisborne still did not budge. They were separated by a crate of coins that no guard was brave enough to move.

"Surely we will find a way to raise him, but you cannot deny me your money again as I carry your child." Marian spoke with a purpose, the boom of her voice intentionally tickling a few blocks away. His eyes swelled to a painful size as his mouth gaped open; they had not spoken, much less slept together, for many months. Not since he denied her in her bedroom, and even then it was so long ago and he didn't even… Guy shot around the box and viciously clung to her forearm.

"I don't know what your shitty little game is," he growled with the rumble of an approaching thunderstorm, "But you need to grow up and move on. We both know I've never even touched you –"

"Prove this baby inside of me isn't yours."

"Are you even pregnant? Or are you just a filthy liar like always."

"I suppose when our son comes you will see –"

"It's not our son, Marian, I never fucked you!" He screamed hysterically as each residential family appeared for the showdown.

"Guy, I'm sure you can sweep your other affairs under the rug most of the time, but you cannot let us starve like some animal. I am praying for you. Praying you will come around and accept your mistake –"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Gisborne shook her hard by the shoulders, spittle flying from his lips as his skin turned a ripe red.

"You're hurting the baby!" She dramatically cried before shooting a glare into his soul. Marian's lips twirled up into a venomous grin. As he let go in astonishment and shock she took a step forward and leaned into his ear, "This is what you deserve."

"You would rather be pegged as a whore, as some affair, rather than accept that I don't care about you? You want money this badly?"

"Well, the money will be nice," she coldly gripped her bony hands into his shoulder, "But if you are really going to embarrass me, Guy, I will drag you and your wife with me. I will shove the two of you down into hell, mark my words." With that she drew on a weary and heartbroken sadness and ran off to cry on her horse, leaving the judgment and gossip to press down on him with more weight than the gravity of the world. Beady eyes followed him down the dusty paths as the dribbling cement in his lungs hardened.

It was impossible, physically not able to happen. His last encounter with Marian was so many months ago and even then he hadn't completed any act with her. Clearly they were lies. Was she pregnant? If so, with who? A nausea beat into him as his manor erected on the horizon. Good Christ, how will Lucy hear about this? Will she believe him, or will she fall victim to the hysteria of it all? Emotions lifted Guy from the ground and dragged him away then slammed his body into sharp rocks, the ebb and flow beating him time and time again. What proof did he have? Gisborne spent all day cooped up in the prison of Nottingham castle that she was bound to. It could have happened – theoretically, that is, because it didn't. It just didn't.

Guy burst into the front door of his home and nearly collapsed to the floor. The clanging of pots rang from the rear of the kitchen as staff started the supper for several hours later, but other than that no one was around. In his own privacy he still could not find oxygen to fill his heaving lungs. All of this could be taken from him in the single beat of a heart, which in his case was a million per moment as it slammed against his sternum. His pride in knowing the truth commanded him not to pay Marian off; after all, he had done nothing to cover up. But what if she did find a father and was bound to start showing any day? How did someone prove that the baby belonged to someone else?

Lucy floated downstairs with a suck of surprised air. She beamed at her husband and took his hands without a word, her cheeks aching because of her excitement.

"You're home earlier than I thought!"

"We need to talk."

"I agree, let me go –"

"No, Lucy, now. We need to talk now."

"Okay, give me just a second." She slipped out as his grip hardened on her. Beads of sweat matted his hair in anxiety as Guy felt his hands tremble; would she think he could have been unfaithful? He wanted to think she knew it was impossible, yet he knew how close he had come to infidelity before. He could not lose her.

"Lucy, sit down." He ordered her when the mother returned. She nodded and complied, a small package in her grip, and then she patted for her husband to join her. Gisborne sat in a chair less than a foot from her, but still provided distance. He could not predict his wife's reaction.

"Sweetheart, I wanted to tell you –"

"Lucy, hush. Just listen."

"No, please! Let me go first. Please." The anticipation in her voice was evident in her bouncing feet and twitching fingers. He released a heavy breath and knew that she would not be feeling happy for much longer, so he conceded and granted her the brief pleasure.

"What is it?" His disinterest was evident.

"Well, I wanted to talk to you because you've been gone so much lately… thought maybe you may appreciate the good news."

"What, Lucy?" The heaviness of his baritone voice broke her flow for a second.

"I didn't know how to say it, so I got you a gift." she handed over the small wrapping with excitement. Guy's eyelids narrowed as he hesitated, but she waved it at him with such insistence that he indulged the game. His fingers were thick and distracted so it took time to remove the thin tissue. Once it was opened his face screwed up in confusion. Gisborne held up a tiny pair of cloth shoes, his thumbs the right size to fit them, and looked to his wife. Her smile somehow found a way to grow more, tightening her neck muscles, and bringing her to a giggle.

"Elizabeth's shoes?"

"No," She shook her head furiously, "Not hers. I'm pregnant, Guy! We're having another baby!" Lucy ran to hug him, but he was quick to shove his face into his hands; the idea of digging out his eyes while he was there sounded like a grand plan. Feverishly he slapped his palms to his forehead and refused to look into her hopeful gaze.

"Dammit! Dammit, Lucy, I can't…"

"Guy," She sat on the arm of the chair and tenderly rubbed his back, "I know Libby is a handful right now. I mean, she's weeks away from walking and only the Lord knows what she will get into then. But there's still several months to get ready and I'm sure she'll be easier then." Gisborne looked up to her, his eyes stained a deep red. Lucy saw tears streaking his hot cheeks. She had never once seen him cry, not even at the birth of their child. Instantly she felt the disturbance he harbored.

"Please tell me you aren't sure. Please. Have food poisoning for God's sake, I don't care, but tell me you might not be pregnant."

"This is the second month I've missed my period," She muttered, her fingers picking at splinters on the seat. Discomfort crawled through his coat and burrowed in and out of his flesh, ripping through organs and stealing air, "I thought you would be happy."

"I am thrilled for our family." Came a flat answer.

"What's wrong?"

"Promise to listen, not speak, and know that I am telling you the truth."

"I promise."

"I mean it. For the love of Christ, Lucy believe me; do you think I would lie to you?" She shook her head as he continued, "Then please, hear me out."


	25. Oh, I See

Midday rose before Lucy did. Sheer clouds did not prevent the blinding sun from penetrating the windows, but she did not notice, nor would she have cared. After fourteen hours of a hibernation like sleep she eventually moseyed to the ground floor. Mary the nanny was cradling baby Libby with a grin, but as she saw Lady Gisborne, sadness shrouded her. For several days now Lucy had slept through noon and she did not seem to mind. As a matter of fact, she was apathetic to each moment of the passing days. Clearly she was depressed; each time she tried to leave to manor the air would thicken into a smog of gossip and hatred. Even the porch was splattered in glaring eyes. Lucy was a laughing stock. Whenever she would drift into the public they mocked her and her children. They poor thing, they would say, being one of his many mistresses that became stuck with his offspring. What a foolish girl, they grinned, thinking a monster like that could demonstrate love. What a slut, they screamed, allowing him to use her body as he pleased. Lucy refused to tell anyone else about her pregnancy. It had only been a few months since the last child, and what kind of a message did that send? She had believed it validated the love between her and her husband. Lately, now, she feared it marked her as an easy body to enter.

"My Lady, would you like anything to eat?"

"No thank you."

"You haven't had anything in two days…"

"And I will eat when I choose too." Lucy quickly snapped as she watched her infant wriggle in the staff's grasp. Libby's hair had begun to sprout in with vigor; it had a soft wave although the length barely touched her ears. The color was a dark sandy blonde and her large, round, eyes looked like pools of crystal blue waters. The stunning blue was a dead ringer for Gisborne; she was no doubt her father's daughter. Elizabeth was much more chipper than he ever was, though. Each occasion was a reason to laugh, much like her mother had been, but now Lucy could not muster the energy to even smile.

"Perhaps you would like to accompany me to the market? I have to grab some more potatoes for the stew tonight."

"I don't think so."

"Oh, come now, my Lady, I think you just need some fresh air. Being a new mother is hard." Alice squeezed her hand with empathy; they all knew the whispers that howled outside the door.

"It will help you clear your head," Mary agreed before setting the zooming Libby free,"I'd be happy to watch her."

"Fine." Lucy sighed as she raked her fingers through her undone hair.

"Splendid, let's get you dressed then." Alice led her upstairs and laced her into a gown and an updo. The ladies left the manor with a forced excitement before trotting down the dirt paths to the open air market where vegetables and fruits sat vibrantly, their fragrance exciting, their skin zesting with the peak of spring. Thick, sun-worn farmers greeted the women as their wives snuck in steely glances. Lucy avoided eye contact with everyone. Cardinals yelped from the neighboring woods and called out soothing notes that put her a bit more at ease. It was her favorite time of year, buds were beginning to blossom on greenery all around and the sprout of something new filled the air. Perhaps things were not as bad as she had built them up to be. The towering spire in her aching mind seemed a bit less glum when nature's breeze kissed her cheeks.

"How's the baby?" One of the merchants prodded, perhaps in polite conversation, perhaps in turning the knife.

"Wonderful," Lucy shortly answered as she carefully selected some produce, "having the time of her life with her devoted father." She glared at the seller when he scoffed a bit.

"Don't worry about them," an older lady cut in, brushing her hand to Lady Gisborne's shoulder, "We all know it's not your fault. I'm praying for you."

"I'm praying you will leave me the hell alone. Why don't you go talk about things you actually know?"

"My Lady, perhaps we should go." Alice took her hand with a tight grin, her attempt to slip away was made difficult as Lucy dug in her heels and painted on a mask of hardness and displeasure; certainly a face she had crafted from Guy's repertoire. She sourly dug out a pinch of coins to purchase the potatoes but was stopped by another gentle hand touching her shoulder blade.

"Don't worry, I'll get this for you." Marian reached across and paid the debt, a softness to her grin that infuriated Lucy. What the hell did she think she was doing in Locksley? The blonde spun to face her, her height nearly five inches lower, but with a venom in her green eyes.

"Do not ever touch me or my family." Lucy tore her shoulder out of reach.

"Look, I think we need to talk. This is a very important time for both of us –"

"What is your problem? What on God's green earth do you think I have ever done to you? You have no business with me, you cow." She could not stop the words flowing from her mouth. While the tone remained dignified and laced with femininity, stoniness emerged in her stare.

"This is not about you." Marian fibbed.

"Then you do not deserve to speak to me."

"This is important, please!" the brunette held on to her wrist and gave a face of worry, "You need to know about the man you let near your child."

"Guy is near our baby because it is his; because he loves her! And I love him."

"And I love peace too much to let anything happen to her," Marian gravely noted, "Look, I don't think you're safe."

"Sod off."

"Has Guy ever mentioned Seth?" She bit hardly, Lucy's brow furrowing, "I didn't think so. We are victims, Lucy. We are together and united in our pain –"

"What are you on about?"

"Do you truly believe we are the only women he has wanted? He is addicted to sex, and we are but tools –"

"I don't have time for this."

"I am the third woman he has children with, Lucy! That I know of at least. How does that not worry you? How can you feel safe at night knowing he will abandon his mistakes and leave us to die, just like his son?"

"Son?"

"Oh, yes."

"You're full of shit." Lucy muttered with a shake of her head.

"You don't believe me? Go to Clun. Find Annie Saunders and her son, Seth. Ask her about Guy and tell me I'm a liar then."

"Farewell, Marian." She barged past the woman and stomped back towards the manor.

"Promise me you will go."

"God will judge you for your sins," Lucy spat over her shoulder, "And I look forward to the day you burn in hell for what you are doing." She did not look back to see her enemy at all. The muscles in Lady Gisborne's legs shook in the surge of endorphins from confrontation; she felt rage and fury and terror and superiority and uselessness all in the same breath. What was happening with her life? A week ago she had a husband, a daughter, land, a pristine and picturesque family. Out of nowhere rumbled this storm of slander and hate and it shook the home in its foundations. Lucy did not doubt her husband's faithfulness. How could she? Guy swore he had never had Marian, and that was the end of that in her mind. But who was this other woman? When they had gone to get married there were a barrage of claims that he had bastard babies already, but it was gossip, jealousy, wasn't it? Obviously a man like Gisborne would not leave the mother of his children… would he? Against her better judgment Lucy could not resist eyeing the stables when she returned home. But she already knew it was a hoax, so there was no point in traveling to Clun, was there?

The blonde chewed violently on her cheeks as she withdrew a mare and slid onto the saddle. With frozen fear clenching her heart she pounded the animal along the route between satellite villages, her mind too preoccupied to care about rattling her developing fetus on the rocky journey. Within most of an hour she had pulled in to the town's border and restrained the beast's pace to a walk, the clicking of her heels popping in the afternoon air. A few meters in Lucy dismounted and led the horse to an open trough of water beside a bar, her nerves frayed to the point of electrical shortage. With a cloud of bashfulness she piped up to a server in the pub.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Annie Saunders?"

"Haven't seen her today, must be at home. Last cottage at the end of the road," he pointed down a fork in the path, "the one with all the pigs."

"Right. Thank you." Lady Gisborne hurried from the tavern and regained the reigns of her horse. Her fingers wrapped and manipulated the leather along her painstakingly slow motion walk to the home surrounded by pink and white pigs. Their snorts and bristled hair were precious, but she could not focus on them as she hitched her ride to a post on the fence. Screams tore apart the lobes of her brain, demanding she run, crying to forget it. But Lucy knew she had to drown this doubt. She had to prove that Guy was exactly what she had grown to know. Her knuckles rapped at the wooden door with marked hesitation before she folded her hands back up in a nervous curl. The lock was shuffled and it swung open, revealing a smaller woman like herself. This lady, though, was brunette and about a decade older.

"Can I help you?"

"Good afternoon, um, I'm looking for Annie?"

"Yes, that's me," She wiped her palms on an apron before being interrupted by a clatter in a back room, "Seth, would you stop it? We have company!" From around the corner sprinted a boy, no more than four or five, and he raced up to greet the newcomer with a flashed grin. His smile was wide, but his sterling blue eyes were wider. Black curls draped his head and a cut jaw tilted up to her. Lucy's throat gagged, forcing vomit into her mouth and nearly spitting it up on the porch. His eyes were so much like Libby's; they were Guy's. A hot wave pressed her head down and a bead of sweat appeared.

"I'm Guy of Gisborne's wife." She eventually muttered as her age excelled in moments with wrinkles of concern.

"Oh… I see. Please, come inside."


	26. Don't Pass Me By

Seth manipulated his metal soldier along the immense and imaginary battlefield in the yard. The tin fighters raged what appeared to be an epic war across the grass, but it could not compare to the conflict that stabbed and burned inside of Lucy. The women were seated inside overlooking the playtime through a flimsy window, their skin clammy with the hardship of the discussion.

"If it weren't for Robin Hood, I wouldn't have my son." Annie summed up with a solemnly drink of water. Lucy's eyes were fixed to Seth's hands; their nimbleness and youthful whimsy. She had had a dream many weeks ago where her husband and her reposed on the grass, a picnic spread among the swaying wheat, their daughter teaching their son the basics of twirling in circles. There sat a boy, Gisborne's boy, but it was not hers. He didn't even want to claim it himself. The hollow parallel of her fantasy was disturbing.

"He's the first born, and a son no less…"

"Seth was born out of wedlock. He wasn't even made with any love or passion. Guy was depressed and I was desperate for that job… my son's no threat to you."

"Does he know?"

"Of course not. I told him his father died in the war in Acre, and that's what everyone else believes, too. I don't want it any different."

"I didn't come here to confront or bully you," Lucy clarified with a hazy frog in her throat, "I'm not trying to embarrass you either, I just…. Had to know. I heard a rumor."

"From who?" Annie's face froze in horror.

"Marian; the one you spoke so very highly of," she rolled her eyes, "she's no saint like in your story."

"She saved by boy's life and kept him warm and fed. Do not blame her for my mistake years ago."

"I blame her for threatening my husband. For making him…" Lucy drew in a sharp breath and felt dry tears pinch her eyes; her reservoir of water had evaporated.

"What?"

"She's claiming she's pregnant with his baby."

"Oh dear…"

"It's not possible. It can't be! It isn't. Please, Annie, please tell me you think he can't have done this." She desperately grabbed at the brunette's sleeve.

"I think… I haven't seen him in years."

"Don't play these games with me."

"Is it true you have children?"

"Yes. A baby girl and another on the way."

"You poor thing. I'm sorry he has gotten you so caught up in –"

"Guy has not got me into anything! We are married because we love each other, because we want to have a family; I refuse to believe anything else."

"Then why are you here?" Annie punched.

"Should I be scared? For Libby?"

"I don't think he will hurt you," Annie sighed, "he's not that much of a wicked man. Guy is not evil. He just doesn't think before acting sometimes… most times. If anyone should be worried it's Marian."

"Why?"

"He excommunicated me from Nottingham and dumped my son in the woods to die, Lucy, just to cover a secret. He wasn't in a relationship then; the stakes are so much higher now."

"Why is no one blaming her?" She helplessly huffed.

"Guy of Gisborne is invincible, terrifying," Annie muttered, "Now they have a weapon."

Night was cloaking Locksley by the time the man in black trudged home. The emotional toll of his sorrow was so great, but nothing he wasn't used to. He survived in a vacuum of pressure and inadequacy, but now his pain was even more personal. He could handle the seething loathe of himself and his failures. But watching Libby and Lucy be crucified over him, much less something he didn't do? It was excruciating. He entered the manor to find his wife seated on the floor, her body inches away from the orange glow of the fireplace. Her legs were crossed awkwardly and her hair looked as if she had had a roll in the bed. Even when Guy clicked shut the door and hung his coat she did not budge.

"Are you not tired?"

"I'm cold." Lucy still did not move.

"It's May," he chuckled as he walked to stand behind her, "Hopefully you aren't ill… has the baby made you sick like Elizabeth did?"

"I've been sick, but not from that."

"Really?" He stroked a hand through her hair, and in a flash she stood. Lucy struck her hand across his face and screamed, reaching to hit him again. Military reflexes crawled up from his bones and led Gisborne to tightly grasp her wrists to stop the blows. She curled and began kicking, the profanities continuing, the bewilderment escalating. With a quick maneuver he spun her and shoved Lucy into the wall, her arms tucked behind her back, her crying shaking her torso as Guy leaned his weight against her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He yelled into her ear. Lucy's sobs were loud enough to wake the infant upstairs, who chimed in to the tears.

"Don't touch me! Stop touching me!" She shouted until he released the petite woman. Lucy immediately sought refuge behind a chair on the other side of the room.

"You're drunk." Her husband accused.

"You're a damn animal, Guy, I hate you."

"Go to bed."

"I hate you! I can't believe you would do this to me, Guy, how could you? How dare you? We have a baby, you monster!"

"Lucy, you shut your damn mouth now and settle down, do you hear me?" Gisborne menacingly stabbed a finger towards her with fire igniting in his eyes. There was only a small thread left of his tolerance.

"You're disgusting! I can't believe you would lie to me like that; why did I believe you? Why did I listen? Why did I marry someone so damn selfish? You know what, go sleep with whoever you want, I don't care anymore. But I won't be lied to again." Lucy shoved the end table to its side in a huff, which triggered her husband's blinding rage. It took only three steps for his long legs to sweep across the den and snatch her slim arm into his fist before striking his wife on the cheek.

"Do not ever talk to your husband that way again, you bitch!" He roared. Lucy shook with tears as a redness already developed, her feet struggling to stay standing.

"Do not touch me, Guy. I am the mother of your children! But I guess that means nothing to you."

"Shut your alcoholic mouth."

"Marian was right, you can't appreciate any of the women you knock up."

"Lucy I swear to God I will break you!"

"Do it! You did it to Seth, you did it to Annie, do it to me! I dare you!" Lucy's voice was becoming shrill with volume; Gisborne felt a sharp blade dig into his spine and twist. What did she just say? How did she know about that?

The weight of his guilt returned. There had been so many months, years even, since he had recalled either of those names or faces. That useless baby and his stupid mother; how could they be resurrected to destroy him again after so long? There's no way the infant survived out in the cold of the woods, surely he had covered his tracks, and Annie wanted nothing to do with their sin either… His confusion melded with his wrath and inflated his violence further. Gisborne's clear eyes bugged with red veins and his teeth were bared like a wolf's. He slammed a fist into the side of his wife's head and knocked her to the floor; he then crouched and lifted her head by the hair to glare into her waterlogged eyes.

"Fuck you," he whispered with vengeance, his hot breath simmering as their noses crunched together, "And fuck this baby inside of you. I don't want either of you, you're pathetic!" Lucy tried to rip herself away but was simply overpowered by her brutish husband, "Put your nose where it doesn't belong and this is what you get." A breath of silence hit the room for a second and left space for the continued cries of their daughter to waft in; she was disturbed by all of the noise and anger that swirled beneath her bedroom. The parents locked eyes. A wicked curl peeled his lips as Lucy froze in horror.

"Don't you dare." She muttered to him. With a clean break she erupted from his clutch, tufts of her hair being shredded into his fingers, but maternal instinct did not let her notice. Lucy began tearing up the stairs, but her shaky movements and shorter legs gave Gisborne room to catch her, yanking the girl by the ribcage back down the steps and falling onto the floor. He ignored her yelling and barged into the baby's room with cavernous breaths and power-drunken stature. Guy latched shut the door and went to the edge of the crib where Libby puffed and flailed her limbs in a fit. Her face was broken with tears as much as his was shattered by fury. In the hall Lucy banged feverishly on the door and scratched the wood with her nails as he reached his fingers into the small bed a lifted out small Elizabeth.

"Leave her alone!" His wife begged at the door, "Please, please do not hurt her, Guy, please. Lord I am begging you!" Gisborne held his daughter to his chest, her legs getting long enough to extend past his forearm, and brushed her tender head as the little noble wound down her tantrum into tired coos. He could hear the mother outside reciting prayers to her saints as fast as her lips could manage. Tenderly he kissed his daughter and bounced her back into a nap, his veins shrinking back from boiling and inflamed in spite. Testosterone cooled and settled within him like the lava of a vicious volcano. A burden slapped his chest at the recognition that Lucy believed he was physically capable of harming Libby. Guy had never felt more apologetic or pitiful in his life; it stung that he could abuse his wife in such a way, but how could she genuinely insinuate that he could do such a thing to their daughter? Several minutes passed as he doted the infant with small smooches and hums, Lucy outside wailing, but eventually he swung open the door. His wife was in a ball by the threshold, the injury on her cheek red and branching spindly purple fingers around her eye. Her breaths were broken and shallow; Guy sat on his knees before her with the fragile baby gently cradled, her head sleeping on his shoulder, her calm influencing the adults.

"I did not sleep with Marian," He weakly confirmed, unable to look into her eyes as the bruise festered, "I promised you…you do not know how bad it hurts to have you of all people doubt me. I married you to come together, to be a team, why would I waste that?"

"But what you did to Annie and that baby –"

"That was so long ago, Lucy, I don't even know who that man is. That was the idiot who needed only to win, to have money, to have sex with whoever in the world he could find. I don't want that anymore. I want you. I want to win your smile, I want to have plenty of children, and I want to go to bed with you because I love you; because I want to show you how much I love you. What good could Marian do me?"

"I'm sorry I doubted you, that was so unfair… but I was so shocked." Lucy watched as the product of their infatuation rolled to nuzzle her father's neck, her small hands balling up. He brushed his thumb along the banged up portion of Lucy's face as a single tear dropped from his eye to the floor.

"I'm so, so sorry, Lucy. I love you. I will do anything for you, I swear," Guy kissed her temple before she fell to lie on his lap. His wife said nothing, but he was rather sure by her posture that she was drained of red rage, "I will never leave our family. I promise."


	27. To Be A Perfect Wife

A cool rain showered down on Nottingham as the county prepared for another spring day of work, the morning shrouded in hazy gray from the dumping clouds. Gisborne's stallion pranced into the castle's stable with relief before he moved unaided into the thatched cover. The Lord of Locksley headed up the soaked steps into the corridor of the property. Marian was winding down to the main hall as well, her hands awkwardly adjusting the padding she had added to her navy gown. She nudged the stuffing to the center of her belly and waltzed in with ease.

"Guy, good morrow," She chirped, catching the husband off guard, "I thought perhaps we could go to Nettlestone this afternoon and look for a place to build our cottage. I mean, why not, right?"

"Because I'd rather drown myself." He muttered, brushing past her with a collision of shoulders. Marian tapped her toes and turned to follow him.

"Can you not see we are running out of time?" She motioned to the small additive to her stomach and fluttered her lashes.

"I don't know who's that is, but it isn't my problem."

"Are you saying in front of God and everyone that you're going to ignore me and our baby?"

"I'm saying all kinds of things." Gisborne rolled his eyes and proceeded upstairs, never bothering to look at her twice.

On the next floor resided Vaisey and a good portion of the Black Knights, including their beloved Prince. The room was darkened a bit by drawn shades and heavy cloaks, but the chatter was alive and well beside the jubilant candlelight. Scribbled maps and parchments were scattered around the enormous stone table along with a three dimensional board of a battlefield, complete with soldiers for both opposing forces, and plenty of pens. Men of spite, power, and clout all congregated with violent intentions that fizzled at their stomachs.

"Glad you could join us." Vaisey prodded at his lieutenant's tardiness. Guy nodded and paid him no mind.

"Right, now that we are all here, let's begin," Prince John glimmered in the bask of his own theatrics, "The time, gentlemen, is upon us. We are only days away from our move in the Holy Lands. Days! For months we have known what this would involve, what we would sacrifice, who we would have to send to take the heat on the battlefront. Now it is finally happening!" Applause burst sporadically around them, "Yes, thank you. Now, we are all aware of what must happen when Richard falls. Each phrase, each motion, each breath we draw will be watched as England becomes confused and scared. But it's okay – we are here to heal them! Like a phoenix we will rise from the ashes and take this country to its full greatness… I do fear, however, the worst is possible. What if the plan is foiled or exposed? Of course we have a pact for silence, but I fear the people will demand we adjust our heads of state. For that, I must assign our runner-ups. Have faith, though, that we appoint gentlemen that are as passionate about our England as we are." At this point several nominations bounced from the stone walls and multiple counties were appointed conspiracy replacements. Eventually they had circled around the map and landed at Nottingham.

"Well, surely I'm not going anywhere," Vaisey chuckled, "They wouldn't dare impeach me." John's stern face did not flinch.

"I will not lose my country to your vanity," he turned to the head of the army in the area, "Sir Guy. Surely you are prepared to lead this county if I deem it necessary?"

"Sire, of course." He breathlessly replied.

"I trust you, I like you. I admire your knowledge of war; although I am uncertain about one thing."

"I will do anything for this."

"You have no heir, Gisborne, what am I to do if a revolution takes you? Vaisey has no children and you only have a daughter –"

"Actually, my Lord, my wife is now pregnant with another child." The man of leather held a smirk of smugness as the royalty tapped his fingers, entertainment in his eyes obvious, and patted his shoulder.

"Well, my boy, you work fast, don't you? There you are then. If anything happens to our Nottingham I official claim you to inherit it so long as you can have your son." John waggled his hand for the ruby ring to be kissed and, in respect, Gisborne complied.

"Thank you, Sire. You will not regret this."

Lucy giggled again as Alice flaunted a gaudily vibrant dress. The noble by marriage snatched it away and plopped it back to the table as she sifted through for a better suited fabric. The ladies had wasted their Thursday by going through shop after shop for gowns that would better fit the growing mother. Her womb was still not visible to the naked eye, but she could feel the materials of her dresses groaning more and more each day.

"I just still feel guilty," She admitted as they departed the booth and went to find another, "I still have so many maternity outfits from when I had Libby."

"Oh but you're the Lady Gisborne! Those clothes are a year old by now, out of style for sure. Your husband insisted we go."

"I know, but I can't help but feel spoiled."

"Never imagined having my husband buy me a wardrobe would be bad." Alice laughed when they found another shop on the corner stuffed with dyed clothing and accessories. In a polished metal mirror in the corner Lucy checked up on the hold of her makeup; she did not notice her bruises showing in the reflection. A good amount of time had been spent this morning repairing her skin from the beating she received last week. "Oh, look at this one! You and your baby would look amazing in orange!"

"Orange? With my hair? Surely not."

"My Lady, are you expecting another child?" The shop owner waddled over, her thin and wrinkled skin displaying years of sun damage.

"I am, yes," Lucy grinned with a palm to her mostly flat stomach, "but we haven't made it known to many people yet." The elderly lady swatted her hands some and winked.

"Don't you worry; no one listens to an old bat like me anyways. Have you tried to see what it is yet?"

"I don't think I believe in that sort of thing, tried with the last one and the tea leaves kept switching from boy to girl each time I did it. Only God can decide, I suppose."

"Well, there's a trick my mother taught me," the seller took a long pendant necklace from a hanging rack, "May I?" Lucy nodded. She dangled the jewelry just above the belly button with a steady hand holding both ends in place. The expectant mother held a tight grin in excitement and humor towards her servant who chuckled, and then they both focused patiently. The jasper that was sewn to the end remained still for a moment and then slowly worked its way to a tiny circle, the stone glinting as sunrays bounced off. The pattern did not change, but eventually the motion died down.

"What does it mean?"

"Well, my dear, it says that you are going to have a beautiful baby girl. Congratulations." The owner's warm smile opposed Lucy's suddenly flat face.

"Oh…"

"Something wrong?" Alice touched her shoulder.

"No, guess not."

"What?"

"It's just… you saw how disappointed Guy was when we had Elizabeth. He wants a son so, so bad and it's all I want to do for him. I want to be the prefect wife, Alice. To do that I have to give him an heir."

"Well," the shop keeper retreated back to her counter, "Like I said, no one listens to an old bat like me anyways."


	28. Let's Get Out of Here

*** Forgive all the updates; I haven't been feeling my best lately so there have been a million chapters flying out. Thanks for your time and don't forget to drop off a review! As always, have a beautiful day***

"And so it is my pleasure," John vibrantly threw his arms in the air, "To announce that today we sail to bring my brother home!" A cheer roared over the crowd that stuffed the castle's courtyard, their impoverished clothing of grays and greens seeming more tattered and pathetic in comparison to the nobles that stood on the steps before them. Gisborne's posture was tall and proud, his wife dangling like jewelry from his arm, the entire county of Nottingham before him. He could feel the authority crawl up over his skin. Vaisey rocked on his toes and saluted with a goblet of fine wine.

"To the King of England." He lifted the pewter cup in a toast which was met with more claps and jeers; the people in attendance blindly unaware of their veiled intentions. Trumpets sounded as bards and bands struck up party tunes. Lucy held her husband's hand tightly and smiled up at him, her sweet face melting his heart. She looked so very honored to be seen with him. Marian observed them from one of the outdoor mezzanines, her hazel eyes not breaking away from Guy as he pecked a romantic kiss to his wife's forehead. She grabbed at the fabric of her gown and slid down the corridor until she was in view, her hand placed on top of the small bubble on her belly. He shut his eyes to block her out and focused only on Lucy's words that she beautifully whispered into his ear over the celebrations.

"You are so amazing Guy, I am blessed to be your wife. You're going to get our King back!"

"I'm going to get us the country our children deserve to be raised in." Gisborne smiled with vanity as he rubbed his battle worn palm against her stomach, darting a rude glance to Lady Knighton in the background. He didn't have time to notice her reaction as Vaisey began booming over yet another ruse for attention; his short arms jammed themselves into thick leather gloves and extracted a trick performing falcon from his box. The bird took flight and aimed between points and locations through the piazza for the sake of savory treats of jerky. The commoners were perplexed in awe at these aerial stunts, but Lucy had more on her mind than that. She brought her husband in through the large, main wooden doors and playfully pushed his back to the wall; Lucy perched onto her toes and continually kissed him with giggles and excitement. Guy happily parted his lips and welcomed her affection.

"Lady Gisborne, what has gotten into you?" He joked with a sultry tone.

"I love you."

"I love you, too." He snuck in another kiss before becoming distracted by the calling of his name down the hall. With a roll of his eyes Guy protectively tucked his wife behind him, hand on the waist of her peach dress, when Marian stormed down weather worn steps to their location.

"I cannot believe you are still being so childish." She accused.

"Get over yourself already, Marian; no one believes your crap."

"Oh really? Do you think it's so impossible for you to have an illegitimate child? My friend begs to differ," the brunette motioned up to none other than Annie who meekly worked halfway down the steps, "And I am not afraid to take her and her son out there in front of everybody."

"You wouldn't."

"You're making me." She bit at him sharply with a nagging finger point, but he blew her off. It had been so long since he had seen his former chambermaid, her brown braid just as mousy as before, but a sorrow in her eyes that she did not possess when they were playing with fire. Annie instantly recognized his face; she saw those bright blue eyes each day in their son, and watching his gaze flooded back her memories of when his hot skin would lie on top of her. She looked away shyly. In her hand was a toddler, his height to her waist, his jet black hair striking. Guy nearly vomited on the floor before all three women. He had never seen this boy before; well he had, but only as an infant a few weeks old. If it were up to him that boy would not be breathing. In fact, he had worked hard and hoped that was the case. Stones pelted into his lungs and bruised up his heart when the boys met glances.

"Seth…" He muttered. Internal death could not begin to describe the rotting of Gisborne's organs in this frame of time. He felt no compelling drive to hug the boy, nor to provide him with food and clothing, which actually disturbed him. He thought of Libby and how warm her cheeks where as he attacked her with kisses and how proud he was to see her every motion with the knowledge that he created her. Shouldn't he feel the same about Seth? After all he had done the same amount of work to procreate him. Yet for whatever reason Guy sensed a guilty apathy at his lack of emotion beyond shock.

"Annie how could you?" Lucy shook her head, the curls piled on top swaying with her. Her husband held the blonde back. Suddenly the bulky doors of the castle swung open with a bang, Sherriff Vaisey scrambling in while screaming at his physician.

"That damned bird will pay! Make it pay!" The short and furious man waved his bleeding hand wildly through the air as the medicine man struggled to cleanse the failing appendage. Neither of them paid mind to the drama between families.

"Tell his wife, Annie," Marian commanded, "Tell her about your baby with Gisborne."

"Annie…" The man in black rumbled with a foreboding of hellacious storms; Lucy shivered at the same tone he used before physically reprimanding her before.

"He impregnated you and abandoned you, just like he's doing to me!"

"Annie," Lucy butted in, "Do not let that witch control you."

"Everyone stop!" The servant finally snapped, her grip on her son turning iron clad, her mouth quivering a bit. Even Vaisey and his doctor stepped back, "This is my son, Seth. He bears a lot of resemblance to Guy of Gisborne, and that's because…. So did my husband."

"Shit." Guy released a solid breath and shut his eyes in relief of her fibs.

"His name was Richard, and he died for this country in Acre, I got the letter from your county itself. How dare you drag him through all of this trouble, Marian? It's hard enough for him not to have a dad, he doesn't need mind games."

"What? Are you kidding me?" Lady Knighton screwed up her face; Lucy squeezed her husband's hand with a sweaty palm.

"This is not what I came here for." Annie glanced to Gisborne with a solid look as if to let him know they did not need to come together ever again, though he was welcome for her lies; her look to his wife was softer and more conspiratorial. Lucy did not fail to acknowledge her assistance in supporting them.

"Why are you lying? That's his baby just as much as this is –"

"Marian, are you alright?" Guy butted in with a look to the physician, "You seem a bit… unwell. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." She gritted her teeth.

"That pregnancy must be messing with your humors, doctor please, take a look."

"What, no, really? I'm doing alright. Just mistaken I guess."

"Stress is no good for an infant," The physician approached her, despite refutes, and began feeling her swelling womb, "We don't want him to be unhealthy in there."

"Please, stop. I'm fine." The shakiness of her voice brought a sadistic grin to Gisborne's face; he wrapped his arm around his petite wife and called Marian's bluff while drenched in pride. Marian's eyes blew up to huge proportions when she could not push away the medicine man.

"What on earth?" He shoved against the bubble on her belly and popped out a stack of padding, her false pregnancy obviously revealed in a moment. Lucy slapped both hands to her mouth in sheer surprise; tears welled up in her emerald eyes as she realized the nightmare of an unfaithful husband was finally over. Marian scurried back to the wall.

"Marian…" Guy cunningly furrowed his brow in cellophane concern, "I hope your mind is alright. That seems a bit _insane _to me."

"No, no!" Marian folded her arms, "I am not crazy."

"Perhaps we should talk about some medications or hospitals –"

"No! I'm tired is all. No sleep. Don't worry, doctor, I will be fine." She continued the argument of her sanity with the physician as all others stood frozen in a stony trance; it was so preposterous that they could not tear their stares away from gobbling up the drama. Gisborne turned to hold his wife by the shoulders and whispered into her ear with adoration and unrestrained pride in his defeat of his former flame.

"Let's get out of here… there's much better things we could be doing than this." He firmly kissed the top of her head and pulled the youthful blonde out of the castle. In the last instant she turned back to watch Marian's hot tears and, to her surprise, a swollen joy washed over her. It felt good to watch her crumble. Lucy no longer had to doubt the love of her life that was whisking her away and she no longer had to fear for her daughter or baby to be. Finally, at last, they were a family and they were at peace.


	29. Birthday Girl

Months breezed through the county as the dust of Gisborne's past settled into the soil and faded memories of the locals. The attention to his family was brought on now by the coming of their second child; Lucy had finally come to her third trimester but it would never, in her opinion, be over soon enough. The gnawing ache of her spine drove the mother thoroughly crazy as she tried to not only keep up with her house duties, but also her one year old daughter. Libby was a master at standing freely, though her pace still rivaled a turtle, and she was thrilled to be discovering everything in her reach. She shifted her weight in her hips again, the bones feeling like they were grinding from the load of holding both her daughter and fetus, and eventually had to pass off Libby to a nanny. She didn't know what she would do without the staff that aided the noble family. She stepped out of the kitchen and collapsed on a chair in the den, her hands holding her desperate back. Lucy shut her eyes and did her best to repose until Gisborne returned early from his work in the city. True to his word, he arrived home before the sun began to sink.

"Hi there sweetheart." Guy kissed his wife's forehead, breaking her from the spell of in between consciousness where sleep fought to prevail.

"I didn't hear you come in," Lucy sat up from her slump, "how was your day?"

"As fun as it can be in a place like that; now where's my birthday girl?"

"I think Mary put her down for a nap."

"I can go get her, Sir." Mentioned one of their workers before she dashed up towards the nursery. Guy set his bouquet of flowers on a side table and kneeled before the fatigued mother, resting his head on her swelling stomach. Lucy's womb was not just painful to carry, it was uncomfortable to watch. A grimace constantly haunted her. With the birth of their first child she had not reached this size until Elizabeth demanded she was to be released; now only six months down her skin was groaning and the bubble of her belly was so large that it actually hung down and came back up to hips. The misery in her eyes saddened her husband.

"Are you doing alright?"

"Depends, can I take this out now?" She joked.

"It must be quite a strong, healthy boy."

"I don't know what it is, but I mean it, Guy, no more babies for a long time."

"Deal." He laughed.

"I had one of those tests done," Lucy brought up, "Those silly things all old women swear will tell you the gender."

"And?" Guy held such anticipation in his eyes that it crushed her a bit to purse her lips.

"She thinks it's a girl… I don't know. It's a bit of a faff if you ask me." She shrugged just as the squeals of unbridled excitement rang from the top of the staircase. Libby bounced down the steps, aided by her nanny Mary, and got as much momentum as possible to rush into Gisborne's arms. The man in leather twirled her in a circle with a great hug and even bigger smile; Lucy was easily caught up in their giggling and happiness. Elizabeth went into a chain of baby babble, her lips and tongue still too confused to form words, but her tones and rhythm let the parents know she was not far away.

"Happy birthday, princess!" Gisborne glowed when he handed her the bundled daffodils and creamy roses, which set the infant into another fit of ecstatic squeaking. She clumsily wrapped her hands around the flowers and waved them as if flaunting priceless gems; Libby was so proud of her new gift, almost as much as her parents were of her.

"I have her a cake all ready," Mary noted, "Would you like it before or after supper?"

"Before; all I want to do is eat anymore." Lucy joked and let the woman go grab the foodstuffs for the Gisbornes.

"My sweet Elizabeth," Guy hoisted the girl to sit on his lap on the wooden floor, her flowers in hand, "How are you already a year old? You aren't my baby girl anymore, are you?" The way he hugged and doted on his daughter brought overwhelming tears into hormonal Lucy's eyes. She knew he was a tender man by the way he honored and treated her, but something about the intimate moments between father and child truly sucked out her breath and replaced a warm calm into her. It was beautiful and in no way reminiscent of the same being that owned the dungeons of hell and horror in Nottingham. Guy, she knew, was so much more than that. Soon Mary was back with platters of sweet carrot cake prepared for them; Libby's was much smaller, with forks included. The mother doled it out and prayed a birthday wish for their daughter before letting the birthday girl gobble up the sweet treat with awkward pincer grabs and smashes of food onto her own face.

"I wish she wasn't so fond of feeding herself, I don't think any of it actually gets in there." Lucy smiled while smearing frosting from the baby's hairline. They laughed and played as a family for a good amount of time before the sky began to haze into sunset, the energy and glee of Guy's piggyback rides second to none. Eventually, though, the forty year old felt himself tiring and dramatic sprawled on the floor to be crawled upon by Libby.

"Do you think she's ready for her surprise yet?" Gisborne still managed to beam cheerily.

"I think so, sure. Say Libby," Lucy picked up her daughter and sat the precocious baby in her hands, "Do you wanna know what your big present is?" The infant smiled and bobbled her head in a nod for yes; a skill she had only mastered in the past few weeks, "Your Daddy and I got our very own doggy!" Little Elizabeth writhed in excitement when her father whistled in the aging bloodhound. It took no time for her to scramble to the floor and begin exploring the animal in all of his strange and furry glory. She was fascinated by the flopping ears the dog kept twitching away from her little hands.

"Not a bad idea, eh?" Guy kissed the crown of her head and went to sit beside his pregnant wife, who was bursting ecstatically at Libby's happiness.

"I can't believe the castle doesn't want him anymore."

"Too old, he can't keep up with chasing outlaws," he folded one leg on top of the other, "I'm starting to feel his pain."

"Oh, hush. You're not that old, Guy… only kind of."

"Only kind of? Thank you."

"Of course." She mocked with silliness. Gisborne wrapped both arms around Lucy's torso and held her closely to his chest, both of them spectating as their daughter passed her first milestone in life. The proud parents knew it would only be a matter of time before they shared this special moment with their next child, and Guy of Gisborne simply could not wait.


	30. Alone

Lucy set down her fork and dabbed at the corners of her mouth before switching now to feed Libby, who sat in utter anticipation of her mince pie. Candles burned through their dining room as the Gisborne family and their servants all crowded the table to take part in one of the many feasts of Christmas. The snow outside had settled into a powder on the grass by now as the night was growing old and late; but the entertainment was in no way passing with the hours. Cooks and nannies were having the time of their lives joking and sharing stories with their noble employers and, after several ales, even Guy was rather enjoying his Christmas Eve supper. Many mouthfuls later Lucy put her daughter on hold so that she could eat some more for herself; the overly rotund womb she carried around constantly craved and kicked for sustenance. Her stomach had grown to be wider than her own hips and, if she hunched over enough, could touch her chest. Luckily, though, goblets of mulled wine and platters of pudding and geese took her mind off of the pregnancy.

"I can't believe we're already halfway through the twelve days of Christmas," Alice sighed as she eyed the strung apples and pinecones around the house, "Seems like we just started."

"Feels like last Christmas just ended from last year!" Another cook tacked on. Libby began banging her hands on the table for more pie, to which her father chuckled and complied to feed her some vegetables off of his own plate. It took several rounds of discussing gossip and politics around the table before Guy noticed Lucy had gone quiet.

"You alright over there?"

"I think so, yes." She smiled and went back to intently watching her pudding before chewing her bottom lip; Gisborne lowered his brow and put up a hand to signal that the chatter should cease.

"Lucy, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine, really, I promise."

"Do not make me waste my Christmas meal interrogating you –"

"Guy, it's okay. I don't want you to worry; it's just a fit of the baby kicking hard." She gently reassured him with bright eyes, which he bought, but Lucy knew otherwise. A warming sensation was bubbling up at her hip bones as aching set in. Having had an infant before, she recognized that these were the same warnings her body cried before hitting labor. The short girl was in far more mental peril than physical as she cursed and damned the idea of giving birth again. It was simply terrifying, painful, horrific, and in a strange way lonely. There she would lie, screaming until even her organs burned, bleeding and crying, and the room full of people would only have their interests between her legs. Lucy would be alone in hours of pain as the only worry through the house would be the gender of the baby. She set the topic back up on another subject and watched as the family ate and laughed together. The slow waves of muscular tension in her body became far too distracting, though, and she decided to excuse herself to bed.

"Are you sure you don't want another dessert, my Lady?"

"No, that's alright, thank you. I will see you all in the morning. Goodnight, Guy," Lucy kissed the temple of her husband and squeezed his shoulders with worry; next time they saw each other she would probably be drenched in sweat and pushing out an oversized child. "Goodnight Miss Libby! Happy Christmas." She gave a smooch to the little one, too, which brought up giggles and babbling. She straightened out the fabric on her gown and made the slow waddle to the staircase, one palm bolstering her spine as the other clamped to the handrail. A few steps up Gisborne began calling her name like wild from the dining room, shakiness abducting his tone, before dashing in to snatch her away from retiring for bed.

"Lucy, hurry! Come here!"

"What on earth is the matter?" She was dragged by the wrist with haste back to the table where the staff all ogled Elizabeth. With both parents standing she sat alone with a grin as if on stage.

"Do it again. Come on, Libby," Guy egged her on, "Do it. Say 'happy Christmas!'"

"Happy Chrusimus!" The baby squeaked with a gurgled tone, her arms waving excitedly. Lucy cupped her hands over her mouth and went to the table.

"Did you just say that?"

"Happy Chursmis!"

"Happy Christmas, Libby!"

"Happy Chrestmusan." Elizabeth shouted again. She beamed in ecstasy each time the house of adults cheered and grinned and showered her with praise and attention; the baby basked in the affection as if she some type of celebrity or travelling show.

"Our daughter said her first words!" Lucy almost yelled at her husband, their eyes meeting. Gisborne seemed pumped full of youth and giddiness when he embraced his wife warmly.

"I know! It's incredible, isn't it?" He held her in his wrapped arms for some time before surrendering Lucy back to bed.

Eventually, and with difficulty, she got herself up to her own chambers and shut the door. She unpinned her elegantly curled golden hair and let it swing down to the middle of her back, strands of it blocking the laced bodice she had to untangle. After finally slipping out of the deep blue and infinitely heavy gown there was not enough effort remaining in her veins to do more before rolling under the sheets. Lucy tucked herself in wearing her underdress rather than a nightgown; after all, she would have to practically remove whatever she stuffed her body into for the impending delivery. Sleep whispered to her and flowed through the feathery bed and yet it was not kind enough to take her away. With a valiant effort to think solely of Libby's first words she tossed from this side to that and felt a thick sweat eventually arrive. The night was heavy, the black sky like a paste that had been punctured with flickering stars and offset with a glistening of mild snow. The small kicks that Lucy felt press her womb developed into full cramps that seared with the sharpness of a blade, almost as if the baby noble was attempting to cut their own way out through her belly button. She maintained deep and regular breaths, the oxygen soothing away the ache, but eventually sensations and anxiety pinned down her narrow shoulders and screamed over her body. Hot tears found their way to the pillow. Lucy could not hold the infant in any longer.

"Guy… Guy!" She hollered without altering her pose in bed, "Guy!" Steps pounded the creaking floor, the balls of his bare feet slapping the ground, just before Gisborne burst into the room wearing loose linen pants for sleeping.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" Panic laced through his speech and clenched together his muscles, fists prepped.

"It's okay… but I need a doctor."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not yet," Lucy muttered while sitting up to recline against the headboard, "But this baby's ready to come."

"Oh shit." Guy froze, his crystal blue eyes fixated on her stomach. Several moments drifted between them without motion or sound; both of their hearts were surging with chemicals and terror alongside sheer excitement. His Adam's apple stiffened.

"Guy?"

"Yes?"

"A physician?"

"Right." Snapping from the trance, Gisborne took one large step to her bedside, clutching her head to his chest and kissing her repeatedly. Without another word he clumsily tore down the hall to become bundled for the frosting weather. As ice grabbed the air of Locksley he rode with glee to the local medicine man, meanwhile Lucy lay alone and petrified in fear, just like she would for the next several hours.


	31. Happy Christmas

"What the hell are you doing over there? Fix her!" Gisborne screamed with bulging veins pulling from his neck. The doctor scrambled and poured out herb after cream after drink, but none of it helped; the midwives could not think of what to do beyond yanking the baby out, and that would only worsen the situation. The smell of blood hung on them all as a maid switched out a fourth sheet under the mother. She was losing blood far too fast. Guy's grip on her hand was like a pincer, but he could feel through his stoniness that her skin was clammy and cold. Lucy stirred her head again as she was coaxed out of a lulling spell of sleep. She felt so tired although her heart was slamming against her ribs with vigorous effort.

"Wha… what's happening?" She hazily questioned the air.

"Lucy, stay with me here, okay? Stay here. Look at me," Guy titled her head to see the glassiness in her eyes, "I'm here. It's alright, we're going to have our baby, and everything will be alright."

"Lady Gisborne you need to push harder."

"No, don't let it out! That's the only thing keeping her blood in –"

"Well it's not in very well, is it?" Bickered all of the physicians in a jumbled heap of blame and confusion. More homeopathic remedies were applied to her flesh or force-fed down her throat as the first traces of pink began to attack the inky sky of night.

"Get my goddamn wife back, you useless sack of sh –"

"Sir Guy, I am doing everything I know –"

"You don't know crap then." Spittle flew from his gnashing teeth to Nottingham's medicine man; the doctors haphazardly began to slow their pace in healing.

"My Lord, her hips are simply too small. The shoulders are stuck and causing internal damage each time we try to get it out. There's not really any choice here; I cannot stop this bleeding." The elderly physician attempted to explain but was ignored over the sound of Gisborne smashing his fist into the table. He roared before tearing out of the door and grabbing a metallic guard.

"Get the doctor from Nettlestone and that bastard from Clun. Take anyone who even looks like they know about medicine, witch doctors, shaman, I don't give a shit."

"Yes, Sire." In an instant the soldier vanished.

"My Lord," called a midwife, "I don't know of anyone in Nottingham who can do any better. You would need some miracle, or at least one of those crafty Saracens."

"Where do you think I'm going to find a –" Gisborne halted his chain of words, the syllables mashing up in his throat, as his mind leaped to a territory of great discomfort. The only thing he knew about Saracen healing was the impossible healing of Lady Marian once when she had been gutted by his dagger. That girl, that criminal, that filth that accompanied Hood; she knew. There was not a single moment that the juices of his brain questioned whether or not this was worth it. Guy stormed back to the bedside and nervously stroked his palm over the sweating cheek of Lucy, the hairs that were matted to her being swept aside, his smile to her clearly painted on and insincere. "Sweetheart, I'm going to get you some help, okay? Lucy? Come on, stay here; there you are. There's those pretty eyes… I'm getting you help. I promise I am coming back, I swear. I swear to you."

"Don't leave me."

"I have to, but I will be back. You're not even going to know I'm gone, my angel, I promise." He lingered in his kiss before breaking from the room and dashing two steps at a time downstairs and to the stables. It wasn't until Gisborne had mounted his aging stallion that he realized he had not bothered to grab any coats; his skin was gnawed and chomped by the fangs of biting cold in the snow, but it was negligible to his priorities. The lieutenant of Nottingham strode out into the brush with a frosted wind banging into his face, his hot breath curling up into the night, his terror ripping down the walls of muscle in his body. Once the trees began intertwining in the canopy and the branches towered over the horse he assumed he was far enough into Sherwood Forest. Guy leapt from the animal before it fully stopped and howled out the criminal's name.

"Hood!" He shrieked, banging limbs from collapsed and fatally wounded trees together. It did not take long for a cloud of bandits to peek from the greenery.

"Little late for this, isn't it?" Will prodded, "Thought it would be your bed time by now."

"Sod off, you git." He sneered in reply. Little John was next to show, and then Robin himself materialized from the shrubs, his bow in hand, his mouth pressed firmly shut.

"Up to cause trouble late, are we?"

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Your Saracen, your healer. Where is she?"

"She has done you no wrong." The bearded man assured as Guy shattered a stick, his fuming fury leaking from the container in his heart, his veins crawling with a sharpness as he was made painfully aware of wasted time.

"I need her, now!"

"No."

"My wife is dying!" His scream reached such a point that the man in black's voice crackled in tone, his vocal cords cooking. All of the gang fell silent in a somber thickness of sympathy. Here stood Gisborne, the embodiment of manipulation and poison in all of his glory. The hatred, the military genius, and the menace all fell away to expose his naked self. No one knew what to say as a tear slithered down his cheek.

"You took my wife," Hood eventually countered with a calmness that implied a resting storm, "You stole Marian away from me and dragged her through the mud like a sick parade, Gisborne. I have no reason to help you."

"This has fuck nothing to do with her, Robin, this is my wife and child. This is Lucy we're talking about. My baby will die with her at any moment –"

"Maybe it will teach you something, then." Sourly the outlaw turned and eyed each of his followers to join, yet no one moved into the fields. Hood clenched his own muscles in anticipation of an attack, a bash on the head, a stab in the spine, but Guy did no such thing. In fact, did not even blink.

"You have never held your own child," he muttered, "You've never seen a human being that you created and watched as it looked on with pure love and affection for no reason; and you have never felt that way about another person before, either. But suddenly it changes you. It will make your heart hurt over the smallest frown on that baby's face, and you will never have that, Robin, because you are too pathetic. You would rather stand in the woods and cry over the fact that Marian doesn't love you –"

"Get out of here, you've got graves to dig –"

"I'll go." Piped up Djaq who slid out from a fat tree trunk.

"No you will not." Robin spat as he thrust an arrow into the icy soil.

"I am going. This has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with me, it has nothing to do with him," she motioned to the tall and foreboding Guy, "But there is a baby out there struggling to come be alive and sense the world, and he and his mother will die over your own petty arguments. That I cannot allow. Gisborne, we are leaving." With that she scrambled onto his stallion and awaited their departure. Without another word, nor smug stare, the father to be pounded them down the trails back to his manor in Locksley.

Bursting into the front doors Djaq did not waste a second to breathe before sprinting up the steps and shoving her way through several physicians, all of whom were older and taller than the Saracen was. Carefully she tapped the mother's cheeks.

"My name is Djaq, and I'm here to deliver your baby. What is your name?"

"What?"

"You need to stay awake. Tell me your name."

"Um, Gisborne? No, Ballard, no… Gisborne. Lucille of Gisborne."

"Perfect, Lucille," she helped herself to the jars strewn through the room of herbs and apothecary mixes, "let's have a baby, shall we?" Guy was slower to arrive, but when he did the new medic was quick to stare him down, her arms already soaking in blood and reaching under the cover sheets.

"I'm here –"

"Get out." Djaq commanded.

"The hell I will!"

"You will only make this worse, all of you! I need one midwife and that's it! Let me work!" The Saracen hastily crushed together powders and shooed away the others, a sweat already popping onto her brow. With an icy hand clenching his heart Guy complied, kissing Lucy's clammy forehead.

"I love you." He whispered before slipping out, not able to follow through on his gasping desire to look back in. He rested with his back against the door jamb in the hall, seated like a crumpled heap, and listened as the minutes stretched into hours. There was less screaming than in Libby's birth, but that was not necessarily positive. Spattered bursts of yelps and curses from each girl inside tugged on his ear and weighed down his lungs with their breath. Through the streaked window in the hall he could see the ball of melon shaded sun pushing off from the horizon; the clouds jabbing at its sides to demand more darkness. Eventually the yelling dwindled to nothingness, the noise of morning birds now becoming apparent. Guy cocked his head and pressed his curious ear to the door; there was no sound of a crying infant, either. Surely, he pondered, something would come up in an instant and assuage his worry with waves of pleasure and liberation. No such thing came. Desperately his senses clawed at the wood on the door and begged for any scrap of noise, even the shuffle of feet, but nothing was in there. It sounded like a deserted room. Gisborne stood and yanked the handle, his progress intercepted by the slide lock that sealed it shut. Again and again he tugged until a clicking came from the other side. Though deprived of oxygen by choppy breaths he pressed back a step, leaving room as Djaq squirmed out. Her arms were cleansed with water and still glistened.

"Gisborne." She greeted.

"What the hell is going on in there?"

"Lucille will be okay," she tenderly held his bicep as Guy collapsed his chest and uttered out a thick breath that he did not have, "But she is incredibly tired. Let her sleep, and make sure to give her plenty of water and fruit because she lost a lot of blood."

"And the baby? My baby?" Dread dripped off of the words and smeared on the floor; a halting terror plagued his question.

"It's a boy, and it is healthy," Djaq glowed, "And so is the other one."

"What?"

"Both of them are boys; you have twins and they are as healthy as can be."

"Holy fuck," he slammed his shoulder to the wall and stood in a paralysis of surprise, "I don't know what to say… You can have whatever money you ask."

"I don't want your money."

"Thank you." He awkwardly climbed the phrase.

"I did not do it for you… Happy Christmas, Gisborne." Djaq clarified before silently heading down the stairs and back to her bungalow in the shelter of the wilderness. Guy wrapped his fingers through his long dark hair and attempted to wash himself and detox from the entire evening. Desperately he shoved the paranoia of Lucy's pain and death back into a hollow recess of fears that sat dankly under lock and key. What was harder to comprehend – the fact that he held an heir, a legitimate heir, or that he was apparently now fathering three babies in synch? Unashamed Gisborne let himself cry on the door. Tears of joy mingled and coincided with tears of relief and surprise all along the lines of his strong face. Karma had almost won. This cruel God that Lucy was so fond of nearly struck away all of the blessings that he had become enveloped in and bound to. Guy nearly went back to having nothing, but it would be different. Before, he had spent decades craving something unobtainable and satisfying; how could he have survived with the taste of his family on his lips but gone forever? Gisborne mustered in a loaded breath and proceeded inside to greet his newborn sons.


	32. Richard the Lionheart is Dead

*** Thanks for all of the support so far! From here we will make a pit stop in some highlights from Season 3… there will be some spoilers of plot if you haven't seen it yet, but the story will deviate greatly from the show. Enjoy!***

The early weeks of the new year ripped chasms through the country and broke out panic alongside tears of uncertainty; Richard the Lionheart was dead. England sat naked, her heart uncovered by a king, and allowed the citizens to fear only the worst as villainy slithered up the ranks. Snow had disappeared from the mornings but frost still hardened the earth around the country as February left its mark. A stillness captured all of the air for days until one man took it upon himself to heroically save the nation.

At Prince John's coronation there had been an overflow of booze and bread, as well as decorations and music galore. The entirety of London shook as the plans set forth by The Black Knights settled into place. The chief officers of this conspiratorial group were of course in the center of the festivities with their new monarch; the men found it difficult to even pretend that there was any tragedy. Without Richard I nothing stood as an obstacle before their engorged starvation for power and higher taxes. Gisborne especially held high stakes in their group's achievement; it was, after all, his tactics and tedious planning that orchestrated the assassination of the reigning king, and John had in no way forgotten. Now having two sons as well, he was sincerely a god among feeble men, and he was not humble in showing it. Once the ale had run dry and the night had run long Guy wandered his way back to his chambers for the night. John's castle was grander and fabricated with pure luxury; it did his heart good to feel the surge of what was quickly becoming his own. Just as the army commander found his floor he was quickly caught by none other than the new King himself.

"Sir Guy?" He called with a calm from a few doors down. Gisborne graciously nodded and led him into his guest room; the gentlemen sat before the fireplace with knowing glances after securing the door with each lock.

"Congratulations are in order." Guy blinked to him with generosity.

"Yes, well, it has taken a lot of work, but finally all things are in their place. You know, my father, Henry, God rest him, wanted me to be King. Not my brother Richard, me. And now my time has come… do you love me?"

"Of course."

"A King must be loved; I worry that your Sherriff does not love me."

"Sire?" The faint muttering of townsfolk shuffling home outside veiled his question.

"I have spent so much money on your county and yet I do not get a pence back, he owes me his loans. And Hood," John slipped a dagger from his belt with a grimace, the weapon being weighed in his palm, "I asked for Hood's blood so long ago; I asked Vaisey and I asked you and I still don't have it! It is a gift that I want and I should have it. Vaisey has not given it to me, ergo he does not love me. But I will have blood, Gisborne…"

"My King…" Guy clenched his jaw with vigor as his hands awkwardly cupped up; the blade shone in John's hand.

"The Sherriff's blood; gift this to me, for I want it. I always thought you would make a good Sherriff, Sir Guy, haven't I shown you?"

"Indeed."

"Do this for me, and it will be yours." The King admired the glow on the edge of the knife before holstering it and excusing himself with no more to say. As the royal stepped out Gisborne released a breath with the weight of fifty men, if not more. The grin on his face was still small as it struggled to escape the cocoon of shock; was this truly it? Was it within his reach? There had been no doubt John admired him. He was paid well and regularly stocked with as many troops as his whimsy required, yet here was his livelihood and purpose on this planet before him, steaming freshly on a silver platter, the prerequisites minimal. He did not need Vaisey. That man was a leech who sucked the life force from Gisborne and left him to rot in psychological hell; once upon a time he was a disfigured father, but now he was in the way. His murder would stream with pools of pleasure and crimson blood. His mind wandered to his family; Libby was now walking and giving out short sentences while his boys were growing rapidly. His children could have the universe once he had the castle. Lucy would drip with jewels as their family grew and gobbled up more and more land. Their options would be limitless, their opportunities endless, their heirs spreading the title of Gisborne and anchoring it into the heart of England. He had to kill the Sherriff.

King John meandered with purpose up the worn stone steps and straightened out his fur lined vest. The smirk beneath his moustache was cruel. After tapping a tune on a wooden door, he was quickly let in to Vaisey's accommodation suite. The short man of Nottingham was poor at disguising his surprise and curiosity as the redheaded King leaned against the windowsill. The orange flames in the fireplace lapped at cracking wood over their hushed words.

"Do you love me, Sherriff?"

"With all of my heart, Sire."

"Would you give up your life for me?"

"Without question." Vaisey swallowed hard before parting his chapped lips and freezing his lungs.

"Would you take a life for me?"

"That's even easier to answer." The flashing of fire glinted the gold on both of their garments in the night. Worry was carved deep into John's face and stole the youth from his eyes.

"Gisborne has so disappointed me of late."

"You and me both, Sire."

"I fear he has no loyalty. Are you loyal to me?"

"My loyalty is infinite."

"Loyalty, love, obedience; a King needs all of these things… Rid me of him, Vaisey; eliminate this burden on my shoulders. He has not brought me the blood of Robin Hood, the gift I so crave, and he has never stopped whining about his ache to be Sherriff. I grow so tired of his slander and hatred for you. Not to mention he is stealing my glory in this battle by boasting that these were his plans! He wants to take my fame and your throne, and we cannot have it. Get rid of him quickly, quietly, discreetly; do it in Nottingham, we do not want to disturb our honored guests with all of this messy business."

"Of course, I understand."Vaisey's eyes drifted down to the floor with a foul mist in them; was Gisborne edging behind his back to snatch up Notitingham? Of course he wanted it, all he did was complain, but lately he had been distant. The Sherriff knew his humanity was crippling the man in leather. That stupid leper of his was tearing him away and distracting him from what truly mattered, but could he have been pulling off in a plot against Vaisey as well? The worm of John's words burrowed into the short man with the shining tooth; could there have been a target on his back all along? Gisborne may have the heirs, but he did not have the gall to run this county, his county. Panic streaked his spine as the ruling Sherriff realized he must strike first.

King John led himself out and proceeded to his royal hole of lush fabrics and self-obsessed paraphernalia to sleep, his brain content enough to slide away into slumber. He tugged away his sheepskin gloves and watched as twinkling stars burned and toiled away as they hung in the evening sky through the windows. Here he would see who truly loved their King, and he could not await the result of his sport. With a rake through his hair the monarch giddily smiled and laughed, "May the games commence."


	33. Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me

With passion she firmly kissed the hard muscle of his shoulder and nuzzled into his warm body, their thighs tangled together, his rough hand in her tender hair. Lucy tightly squeezed her arms around him with a smile. At last they had found a window of time to worry about only each other.

"I am so glad you're home." She whispered, stroking her cold foot over the back of her husband's calf.

"Me, too… there is nothing in London as good as this." Playfully Guy patted her bottom with a wink; she giggled and frowned with eyes that belied her lips.

"You're such a child."

"You wouldn't have it any other way."

"I dunno, four is a lot." The blonde excitedly wrapped herself around him again but retracted when Gisborne expressed a wince in pain; her fingers had found his wound. Lucy sat up and apologized, her eyes trying to stealthily glimpse the sore on the back of his shoulder, but he would not let her worry. The injury did not feel wet to the touch, nor was it hot, but the discomfort scrawled in his tight cheeks worried her, "Do you want me to clean it?"

"It's fine."

"Guy, really, let me –"

"It's fine; just a lucky hit from an arrow. The outlaws will not be so fortunate again." His confidence was exuded with certainty, and yet he could not be more incorrect. Robin of Locksley had not successfully tagged him; rather, Vaisey had failed in his marksmanship in the shady cover of the woods. For a week now the two men had dueled like pinned animals and yet neither was aware of the attempts on their life. Both were cowards who could only stalk in darkness and sprinkle poison on snacks. Not only would infamy burn up their title of Sherriff to the public, but they were not able to see into each other's pupils while twisting the blade; as much as the men despised each other and wished pain and blood, they were a venomous family. Gisborne's dagger that begged for Vaisey's life was never more than a reach away. Even now as he clung to his naked wife in the bed the gleaming blade rested just on the adjacent table. Nothing would ruin this for him. King John's words haunted his mind and twisted through the lobes of his brain and were only relinquished as Guy felt her soft chest press against his when Lucy lied back down.

"Other than skirmishes in the woods your trip went well?"

"Very," the low tone of his voice boomed with glee and unhidden pride, "John has given me his northern camps and the Black Elite Guards, not to mention some other perks. You're a very lucky lady."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks so." She kissed him youthfully; even Lucy recognized that her magnetic attraction to his cockiness was probably not ideal, and yet she could not resist the air of ownership Gisborne held over everything, even her. Maybe it was the fact that her young age was accompanied by naivety or perhaps her father's death at the age of twelve left her to seek another prominent male figure. Either way, she could never leave his arms.

"The King has promised me many things, Lucy, and I plan to take them all. We are going to have everything that the sun can touch." His bright blue eyes slightly hazed over with the lust for power and cold blood. In his stomach Guy knew that tomorrow would change everything; after the morning drills with the guards he would have the daily briefing with Vaisey over their status. There the pressed metal of his blade would puncture the Sherriff's skin and allow all of the poison to drip from his small and feeble body. An exhilarating avalanche of anticipation and authority slid over his nerves. The motion of Gisborne's hands as they explored his wife's skin let her know that this excitement was firing him up yet again; Lucy rolled over and put her back to him with a shake of her head.

"Guy, it's late. Shouldn't we rest?"

"We just did."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Lucy was unable to guard her laughter when he proceeded anyways; Guy's hands were firmly on her breasts as she halfheartedly tried wiggling to the other side of the large feather mattress. His strength pulled her back over and ultimately won. The ominous and gobbling darkness of the night sky blanketed their manor with only one bedside candle struggling to combat the blackness. It licked over half of the sheets and glowed on their faces, although even the light appeared weary in the dead of the evening. Dribbles of beeswax decorated the end table and blotted near the dagger that would kill Nottingham's leader, but Lucy hadn't even noticed. Her emerald eyes looked past her heavy lids and watched into the sky as gray veils of clouds tickled over the full moon; a few craters were faintly visible, she noticed, as her husband took the liberty of adjusting her short legs apart. Gisborne did not say a word before climbing over his wife, their eyes even when lying down, and did not bother to hesitate or ask before entering his coveted destination. The small breath Lucy sucked in at the start of each time drove him insane.

"I love you." She told him before shutting her eyes to focus on the addicting mixture of pleasure and discomfort in her hips. Gisborne kissed her forehead but did not reply. He did not stop until feeling personally satisfied, and after that it was only a matter of minutes before the married couple fell into a deep and long awaited sleep. His travels to John's coronation had been a whirlwind, not to mention the proceeding ride back home which was studded with mind numbing boredom. In their fatigue it took a few tries before the crying of an infant could stir Lucy awake.

She groggily rolled over; hours had melted away the candle to a nub, but even without it she could see that morning had not come to greet them. In the haze of sleep she did not snap to realize her son was complaining until seconds later. Without another thought she snaked out from the cozy bed and fumbled for Guy's evening robe, tossing it onto her milky skin and scuttling down the hall into the boys' bedroom. The baby had quieted, but she assumed that, like most nights, one of them was aching for a midnight snack. By the grace of the moonlight she found a sliver of flint and struck up a candle in the room. Lucy stood between her sons' cribs, each boy against an opposite wall, and went to the infant Alec first. Lucy slid the robe off of one shoulder to feed him and leaned over into the high walled bed, her hold on his ribs tender. Before she could raise his body Lucy was grabbed. One arm tore her away from the bed by the waist and the other pasted a strong hand to her mouth, cushioning the noise as she screamed with horror. Even with thrashes and writhing Lucy could not escape this iron grip; it took several moments before she realized a knife was being held to her stomach. She clawed at the hand on her face with desperation as the assailant dragged her to the distant corner; the fingers were rough and speckled with hair on the knuckles like a man. When he shoved her into the wall Lucy took the opportunity to swing behind her, barely brushing what felt like the hilt of a broadsword, and tried yet again to grab the weapon. The attacker struggled to restrain her arms into handcuffs but fumbled, leaving a split second open. She obtained the sword and tore it from the hilt, spinning wildly and jamming the tip against his throat. Her knees bent and her heart slammed against her ribs. The attacker jumped back but quickly laughed at Lucy's obvious lack of knowledge with sword fighting. They were nearly the same height, but he had an upper hand in sheer confidence and training. The weak candlelight was backlighting them so the face was shielded in the shadows.

"What the fuck do you want with my children?" She could barely mutter with severely shaky hands. The only answer was a sudden lunge which she darted away from, scrambling to her hands and knees and crawling a few feet away; in the panic Lucy did not remember to call out for assistance. Her only thought was survival. In the shuffle she had dropped the sword and was now an open target for the glinting dagger that swung in her direction again. The sharp edge streaked down her arm and drew blood, but Lucy barely noticed. She dashed to the wall and feverishly grabbed at the wrist that was thrusting the knife, their sweating hands tangling, the rustle disrupting both babies into a breathy cry. In the blink of an eye Lucy manipulated the weapon in her assailant's direction and heard it pierce through his skin and organs. Even when thick blood spurted form the hole she did not realize what happened. The attacker slowly tumbled at her feet and rolled to one side, a clammy palm on the dagger that protruded from under his ribs. Although it was seconds ago, Lucy could not remember if he fell onto the blade or if she had driven it into him. To her surprise he spat out her name.

"Lucy…" He sputtered with a trickle of crimson from the corner of his mouth. Curiosity gravitated her to take the steps to his side, caution in her walk, terror in her eyes. The hazing orange of the candle appeared at the perfect angle to illuminate both of their expressions.

"Oh my God, Sherriff!" She fell to her knees and clasped her hands to his mortal wound, the pumping of blood squeaking out through her fingers although she was trying to heal him. Seeing Vaisey's face made her forget that he had, in fact, tried to murder her. In this moment she saw only a scared boy with the power of her husband's boss. His hands were chilly as he gripped her wrists tightly; the Sherriff tugged her close and quivered his lips with intensity in his flustered eyes.

"Do not trust him, do you hear me? Nothing is what it seems." Vaisey did not cease his squeezing of her arms until his eyes grew distant, their focus glazing over, his tongue falling forward. The bleeding around her slowed to a crawl. Lucy did not take in a breath after he had claimed his last; only now did she notice that both of the boys, and Libby down the hall, were having fits over the high emotions and ruckus. She could not decipher how long it took Gisborne to burst into the room; it could have been a single second or a single hour, she did not know or care. Lucy did not look at her husband or notice the prepared weapon he held. It took him falling on the opposite side of the corpse for her to feel the warm blood seep through the robe and onto her abdomen, the red smearing from her fingers to her elbows.

Lucy could not take her eyes off of his, no matter how much her brain begged and screamed. They looked like swollen fish bowls. There was a vacancy that she could never describe in words and it haunted her soul. The glassiness of his expression frightened her, the way his mouth hung open and his eyelids peeled back to show so much nothingness. It had taken only minutes for this to turn from a human into a shelled carcass, one that was familiar, and yet she could not recognize it. This image stained her mind and would appear in dreams for the rest of her life. Lucy blinked and sucked in a breath when Guy shook her by the shoulders.

"I said are you alright? Dammit, Lucy, answer me!"

"I'm not hurt."

"Are you positive?"

"Yeah…" For the first time she sensed the sting of a cut on her right forearm from the combat. A small squeak fell out of her as abrupt tears found their way out; Lucy was unable to read her emotions. Fear, restlessness, petrification, guilt, excitement. Even gasps were now inaudible from her mouth when she shook like a leaf in the wind.

"Lucy –"

"I don't know what happened, oh my God, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Lucy –"

"I don't know if I did this, did I do this? Was it an accident?"

"It was defense."

"It was murder; I'm going to hell, Guy."

"Lucy he should not be in our house, if you didn't do it I would have." Gisborne brushed hair from her face as she continued to avoid eye contact. It was impossible for him to restrain joy and yet she missed it, the weight of the situation overriding her ability to watch his wicked smile and dancing expression.

"They're going to hang me. Oh shit, they're going to kill me –"

"Who, the Sherriff? No, Lucy, I am the Sherriff now," An evil washed over him and possessed his body to laugh uncontrollably, his fingers fiddling in the blood of his enemy, "I own this county; I own everything."

"This is a sin before God."

"No, Lucy - I am God now."


	34. Sherriff

Libby pushed away the golden curtain again and crunched her face to the window. Spires of trees were whizzing past the carriage, the snapping of their leaves and shriveled twigs rumbling under the wheels, their shadows dancing all across her face. She could not take her wide blue eyes from the view, especially since her parents droned on with adult problems. Elizabeth eventually sat back next to her mother but kept watching the forest zoom around them in a cloud of bark and peeking sunshine. Lucy readjusted the twin boys, one in each elbow, and tried to emulate her husband's cool.

"There's nothing to worry about," he calmly raised his eyebrows, "This is going to be the best chapter of your life; we have everything, baby girl. Smile."

"I don't know if this is right."

"Of course it's right, I earned this."

"I know you did, and I'm proud, Guy, I am. But you can't blame another man for –"

"Robin Hood is not a man," Gisborne hardened, "He is a lawless creature that has killed plenty of people before; there is enough blood on his record to cover Vasiey's as well." He straightened his black formal tunic and shifted back to an air of serenity. Drake and Alec both clumsily fiddled with the lace trimming on their mother's dress as the forest drifted farther from the wagon. The horses whinnied as they crossed the wooden bridge into Nottingham; the family was immediately greeted by swarms and clusters of locals, workers, and peasants who wanted to steal a look inside as if they could learn more about the political questions that plagued them with a glance. Upon entering the courtyard attendants and guards were quick to help usher the children out of the way, onlookers flooding the piazza to hear the announcements, curiosity piqued. As castle workers took the offspring from her arms Lucy was helped out of the carriage. Her melon colored gown draped and unfolded as she climbed the steps before her husband, murmurs from the public crawling over them. Guy absorbed each syllable and scent with vanity as he ascended to the doorway of Nottingham castle. His castle. He brushed a thumb along his wife's cheek before striding to the edge of the steps, his arms extended, a wildness evident in his eyes.

"Nottingham," Gisborne boomed, "It is with great sorrow that I have to confirm the rumors about our dearest Sherriff… It is true he is dead. Murdered. He was ambushed in Sherwood Forest as we returned from London to represent you and your good wishes towards our King; on a mission of peace, he was killed like an animal by outlaws, bandits. Robin Hood is not your friend, Nottingham, he is dangerous. There will be no more tolerance for him or anyone we find aiding and abetting the murderer." Whispers snaked through the wind as Lucy shuffled her feet; in her mind she knew how deceitful and immoral it was to cast the fault onto someone who was not even involved. Her principles were wrestling in a losing battle with relief; it was so very wrong to lie and bury the truth, and yet there was a tingle of joy in her stomach as she was washed in Guy's assuaging words. As she glanced over the stone steps she could only think of Vaisey standing beside them, like usual, and wondered what he would think of it all. The Sherriff was not known for honesty, either, so he would likely pat his lieutenant on the back for his slippery ability to weave lies.

"I realize that this is a questionable time for England," he continued, "We have a new King, and now we are in need of a new Sherriff. But I vow to you, each of you: I will take the reins of this county and I will lead you into a better England, your England, our England! We will crush the outbreak of criminals and we will have safe cities to raise our children in. We will recover from our loss of both Richard and Vaisey by rising and becoming all that we can be; and I will be the one to bring you there." As a wickedly twisted grin captured him applause sprung up all through the audience. Lucy, too, cheered with enthusiasm as Nottingham became swept up in his words. The chilling wind was negligible in comparison to the brand new horizon their county stood upon. Gisborne turned and went to his wife, his hands holding her by the waist as she pronounced every drop of support and obsession for him that he ached to hear. There was such a swelling of arrogance and narcissism inside of his ribcage that Guy felt nearly numb; his circuits were overloading with the pleasure and perfection that was him and his life. Gisborne had clawed himself up from the rank and imprisoning hellhole that was nothingness and now… now the bloodied and worn down nubs of his fingers were worth the climb. He had arrived at the peak and no one could take him back down now.

They entered the fortress and sealed the great wooden doors, pushing out all of the voices and festivities that celebrated the Gisborne name. He overlooked the milling of guards, some painted silver for Nottingham and others shielded in black as an elite royal defender, and nodded with a smirk. Each member of the castle was already familiar with his taste, style, and ruthlessness. They instantly fell in line to his expectations. Lucy twisted herself all around his leather padded body and clung tight, the smell of buttercups in her hair drifting up to him. Guy folded his arms around her ribs and pulled her up with such exuberance that her lungs hardly sucked in any air; yet she did not want to be anywhere besides those few inches from the floor as her husband lifted her for a kiss.

The rest of the day and evening were spent with food and flowing alcohol in the banquet hall. Gisborne soaked up the moments through his skin and felt an itch of frustration scratch at his veins when the celebration eventually fell victim to the lateness of night; to his dismay, nobles began filing back to their homes and ignoring his glorious ascension to Sherriff. Guy pressed a scowl into each remaining party goer until he felt the slim arms of Lucy cross over his chest, her soft body standing behind him at his throne, and kissed behind his ear. He scanned his gaze across the room and radiated smugness as several jealous men watched her young body drape all over him.

"My lord Sherriff," she sensually put into his ear with an injection of ego feeding, "I hope your evening has been fully satisfying." He spun in the thick wooden armchair to see her soft curls brushing her neck, body leaned over into him. Lucy did not stop her husband from stroking down her arm although she usually hated public affection. Tonight belonged to the Sherriff.

"I can think of some other things I want." He muttered back, clear blue eyes obviously pasted to her round breasts; they fell back a bit as she laughed.

"I tell you what, I will go check on the children and then meet you in your quarters?"

"I'll come with you." Guy distractedly answered. Abruptly and with Lucy in hand he slipped away from his own revelries and snuck up spiraling steps to the little Gisbornes' new nurseries. They peeked into Libby's room first to see the one and a half year old folded up into a ball of slumber, her sandy colored hair still pulled back into the crimson ribbon from her father's appointment ceremony. Next they visited the twin boys Drake and Alec, both of whom were out cold in their respective handcrafted cribs. Guy could not help but become glued to Drake's peaceful expression; his first born son was fully unaware of what this day's importance held for him. Guy was molding a new castle with his bare hands, the clay weighing him down and smearing in his eyes, and yet he held no other purpose in life. This new creation would be everything. He would conquer and shape northern England alone and, one day, this two month old infant would sit in his throne, ruling the Gisborne title with iron and victory. Alec, too, had an opportunity to fly his father's flag with steely vigor and success as second in line. Guy would be immortalized in these children. No matter what, the name and nation would survive with his blood. Lucy pulled him away from these thoughts by playfully yanking his arm back into the hall, her flashing smile infectious. The couple was very hasty to get to Gisborne's new chambers with its fur trimmed bed canopy and marble fireplace mantle. The windows were filled with ornate stained glass and the iron chandeliers illuminated all of the colorful rugs blanketing the floor. Guy had always coveted this rank in office and now there was nothing between the flesh of his hand and the achievement in his grasp.

Lucy did not bother to soak in much of the luxurious ambiance. With a bite of her lip she naughtily pushed him on to the bed, shyness in her eyes that drew Gisborne's hormones to her even more. Even when she tried to misbehave the innocence was present. Guy held his wife's hips when she sat on his lap and held in some bubbles of giggling.

"Sherriff." Lucy batted her eyelids when his fingers tactfully unlaced the bodice of her gown, eyes never parting from one another.

"I want you to keep saying that all night." Gisborne romantically ordered before peeling the fabric away from her skin.

"I'll do anything you want, Sherriff."

"That's why I keep you around." He winked to her before crushing their lips together in passionate kisses. Here in his castle, and in his county, the Sherriff Gisborne held everything.


	35. Burn It to the Ground

The sunlight of early March was charming but impossible to see. The swarms of Black Elite guards that surrounded Sherriff Gisborne and his party gobbled up most of the light and visibility on their tour through Nottingham, leaving Lucy with generally the view of men's backs. Still, she was fortunate to have been invited along the route as King John paraded his congratulations for the new leader and his family. Now that both of the men held office their conspiracies boiled beneath the green grass of England and quaked with the anticipation of coming to fruition. After the King wrapped up his theatrical waves and desperate pleas for attention in Nettlestone the heavily protected nobles proceeded down stony roads to pass through Clun. As markets were wrapping up for the close of the afternoon most locals were more involved with packaging the scant profits and remaining products than the daunting speeches of royalty, which genuinely infuriated the self-obsessed John. With a snarl he commanded they leave.

"I cannot believe the audacity of these peasants, their King is gracing them with his presence and yet they give me love empty of obedience. What kind of love is that?" His eyes were screwed up with overwhelming confusion. Guy did his best to assuage the man, with a small tinge of bitterness chasing his words, as they made their way to the outskirts of Locksley. The gentry slipped between huts and homes on either side of the group, encircling them with the intention of safety but rather providing discomfort and fear.

The further they pushed into the village the more elaborate the scene became; roses were strewn from each available branch and dripped from gazebos and tables around the church. Adornments of flowers and fabrics draped around the festivities as families grouped together in laughter and celebration through Locksley.

"How sweet, it's a wedding," Lucy beamed as her eyes darted between security guards, "Looks lovely. Locksley is so perfect this time of year for it." Her memories linked together all of the joy and terror and exhilaration that accompanied her own matrimony to Guy in this very place; it was the single most distressing and perfect decision she had ever made. Her husband could feel her smile to him through his jacket, but did not break professionalism to turn and acknowledge her.

"Locksley?" John rolled the word on his silver tongue, "Why do I know that name? Wait a second, yes, this is where Hood gave away all my money at Christmas, wasn't it?" He drilled holes into Gisborne at his voluntary lack of an answer.

"It was taken care of, I assure you."

"But they took my money, Gisborne! I'm offended! Do they not love me?"

"Surely they do; you're their King now. They have no choice."

"It is not forgivable." John muttered as he slipped off from his stallion. With a plastered on grin he waltzed through the celebration shaking hands and brushing the heads of oblivious infants, his jewelry glistening in the warmth of the sun. The bride to be blushed with humility as the King stroked his hand through her blonde hair and blessed the couple before the great wooden doors of the church. Each villager who found the chance filed around and congratulated him on his ascension to the throne, their faces filled with the anxiety to please as they still mourned the loss of Richard the Lionheart. Lucy ignored John as he proceeded back to them in a gallant gloat; she was envisioning the way she had chosen to decorate Locksley and bit her tongue at how much worse this couple's color scheme was. He glared into one of the knights as he crawled onto the back of his horse.

"Wait until they're all inside then burn it to the ground."

"What?" Lucy gasped as Black Elite guards departed and slithered to the holy building, their minds wired to only follow directions with precision. Guy swallowed the lump of his Adam's apple in discomposure but extended a hand to hush his wife, not looking to her panicked green eyes.

"They support outlaws and rob me then claim to be infatuated with me; I hate liars. It will teach them, and then they will love me."

"No one will love you if you hurt them or their church," She dismounted and puckered her lips in anger, "It's disgusting." Lucy stuck her arms to her hips and a shuffled her weight in broken comfort. Metal plated men clasped the doors shut and barricaded it with planks of solid maple wood, their palms slamming it down to jam into a snug fit. Other suits of hate snagged up torches from a nearby tavern and ignited them. When the leaders ignored her Lucy grabbed up the bottom of her dress and began to huff towards the house of God, her politeness and lessons in obedience and femininity obsolete. Parents, children, lovers, quarrelers, and innocents were going to die. Gisborne did not hesitate to jump after her and grab her wrist, yanking the girl back two steps and dragging her to the horses. His eyes were made of steel.

"Behave yourself." He spat. Lucy wriggled in his grip when guards shoved the flames into the baseboards and matted straw roof, the orange blazing up in an instant to dominate the dry and towering church.

"How can you do this?" She did not yell, but still asserted her notes, "We were married in that building, babies are in that building! Babies like ours and they are going to be bu –"

"I told you to shut the hell up." Gisborne shook her arm and pulled it up to his height with a sheerness to his expression; he nonverbally begged his wife to be silent because he dreaded having to do this here and now. Not at this time. Not with these people. They both felt the sourness John bored into their skin, his displeasure obvious in his fidgeting. Crackles began springing from the church as hands started pounding for mercy against the walls, their confinement now swelling with heat and blazing light that rivalled the afternoon sun.

"You have to put it out, please!" Lucy beseeched both men and got no answer as she felt herself and the rafters of the building shake. Her morals shattered the rusting shackles of her societal obligations and led her to struggle as Guy captured both of her wrists, fingers squeezing with such intimidation that it ached.

"How dare you tell your King what to do, you're as ungrateful as they are."

"I promise, Sire, she is just hysterical. Lucy has not yet learned to hold her tongue like she should –"

"You're both mad!" She started to screech with a hissy fit, attempting to escape her husband's grip in order to help the vigilantes that had appeared to vanquish the licking flames, "Let me go, Guy! Let me go!" In the multiple episodes of scrambles Gisborne found himself distracted as Lucy wormed her thin arms out of his capture and bolted. Her feet scampered down the dirt path as fast as they could, her mind only on the peasants who were splashing water onto the church from a neighboring pond. Several farmers were scratching at the barricade to release the victims from their hold.

"Control your property, Gisborne, for God's sakes." King John did not hide his disgust, which burst the vein of rage that nestled inside the leather. Guy had been Sherriff for only a month and already someone was disgracing him in public, before his King no less, and it was none other than his own Lucy. He was not only disappointed and offended, but also ashamed of her. The red of anger dripped over his vision and blinded Gisborne as he tore down the road after her. Beams of charred and splitting wood began falling from the church as he caught up to his wife. He violently grabbed her arms and lifted Lucy, flipping her back towards the horses, her wails for justice ignored under the screams of burning wedding attendees. He carried her flailing body most of the way but shoved her back to the ground as he grew more frustrated with her insubordination. With a sharp snap Guy struck Lucy across her face and barked for her to return to her horse, redness immediately rushing to her cheek. The doors of the chapel burst open from the weakened wood and allowed villagers to spill out like ants from a hill, women clutching children, tears being evaporated by the flashing flames. She hardly noticed that the fire was being victoriously ousted; a cloak of terror surrounded her in remembering just how vicious Guy's brutality could be. The last time they brawled her eye was purple for two weeks. This, though, was no quarrel over gossip. He was prepared to sweep murder under the rug and blame Lucy for her revolt, and she could not tolerate this from the father of her children.

"I am not your soldier." Her words smoldered.

"Excuse me?"

"You cannot keep commanding me around like one of your little armies, Guy, I am not in your military. I am your wife."

"You're pretty shitty at it," He gritted his teeth with malevolence, fingers grabbing her hair and roughly holding Lucy's face to his own, "If you listened like you're supposed to you wouldn't have a problem. Get her back to Nottingham." Guy shoved her petite body with force into one of the Elite Guards and shook his head with bitterness before returning to his stallion at the side of the King. That was, after all, his rightful place. The endorphins beat into his muscles, heat choking his skin, jaw grinding in discomfort. He did not want to have a scene with Lucy, especially in front of the public eye. There was no shred of possibility that he would be condemned for his abuse, yet he wanted to swallow it away and pretend their marriage was perfect. It was nobody's business to know the way kept his wife in order. Lucy and an escort brushed past Gisborne to take her away from him. "I will deal with you at home." He coldly muttered to her.

Guy pulled his gloves on tighter and attempted to ignore the stares from John, the air thick and tainted with an awkward staleness. The itch of worry down his neck was not for his marriage, rather, for his job. Words and memories and scars would never be able to fully add up how much he had done to become Sherriff of this county and nothing would revoke it. If that meant watching King John annihilate a church full of citizens, fine. He would not be the man to stop him. Nothing would jeopardize this pillar of authority he stood upon.

"Stressful, this work." John eventually chipped in.

"Nothing more than usual." He cocked his head to the side with a false smile and inhaled a face of superiority.

"I quite liked Vaisey's dedication to me, he loved me. Perhaps it was easier because he did not love anybody else –"

"She will learn to bite her tongue, Sire, I swear it. She's twenty two; too young to understand how to act around men like us."

"I never did think you liked her company for her manners." John stuck at him with a clear image in his mind; Guy had to bite his tongue at the remark.

"It will be fixed."

"You're not a lieutenant anymore, Gisborne, you are Sherriff. You are in charge of every person you can see here, and especially your own wife… Do not make me remove distractions for you."

"I assure you that will not be necessary."

"Shame," John clicked his horse forward, "I wouldn't have minded taking her off your hands at all."


	36. I Will Always Take Care of You

Night was teasing the castle of Nottingham with an agonizingly slow descent, its purple fingers crawling along the stone walls while the sun desperately clung to the sky. Lucy could not help but watch out the window for the moon, because once it arrived so would her husband and, in turn, her argument. She was clumsily preparing thin armor against his frustrations and usual shots. Surely he would stock the habitual arrows of insults against her; she was a woman and couldn't understand politics or real class struggles, she was naïve and believed in a magical God that would make it all right anyways, or his favorite where she was too young to understand the world or anything in it. Lucy did sense a tinge of regret in her stomach. It was not in any light appropriate to disregard her husband and run her mouth off, much less to scoff at the ruling of her King. But that was not her beloved on that horse today; that was a monster.

"I wanna see window." Libby awkwardly pointed her tiny arm. With a strange hustle the one and a half year old led her mother by the hand to the end of the hall with an ache to watch the sunset; her steps were wide and swayed around as her chubby legs worked hard to find a straight line. Lucy agreed and then held her daughter up to the pane of thin glass to observe the wonder of nature unfold before them. Orange resonated like spilled paint across England's blowing grass.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah!"

"Just like you, cutie." She planted a kiss on the excited child and turned to set her down. A claw grabbed her heart with iciness when out of the corner of her eye she realized Gisborne was towering steps behind them, arms folded, stare unchanging. Lucy sucked in some oxygen as the surprise escaped her and the nerves became convinced it was not a ghost or a horror. "You gave me a fright, Guy, I didn't realize you were there."

"Libby, go play in your room."

"Surely we can talk after supper, I was going to –"

"Lucy, do not test me." His crystal eyes did not blink. She smiled with an effort to please and waddled little Elizabeth a few doors down to her playroom, drawing deep and nervous breaths before shutting the girl into her nursery littered with poppets and carved wooden horses. Once she clicked shut the door Guy's gloved hand snaked to the back of her neck casually. His grip was loose and unthreatening, but the position immediately set him in power. She did not say a word as he gently led her to the end of the aisle and into the privacy of Lucy's chambers. The falling sun glowed through her plum shaded curtains and blushed the room. Gisborne shut the door and leaned back against it, no words or motions, before Lucy gently sat on the window seat. Silence pressed like stones on her chest.

"I cannot stop thinking about what you said to me today."

"It was inappropriate," her eyes tumbled to her fidgeting fingers, "I'm very sorry. I should know better."

"You said I order you around like a soldier."

"I'm sorry. It was a wild situation, I got carried away and –"

"You disrespected me, Lucy, in front of the damn King of England. You ignored my command to stay put, and worst of all you went to aid friends of Robin Hood."

"That was not my intention, I just didn't see why people had to get hurt." Emotion crept in to drag away her words, so Lucy clenched shut her jaw.

"You know what the worst thing about it all is?"

"What?" She refused to watch as he moved slowly towards her and leaned in against the window, his breath on her forehead, arms pressed up on the wall. Fluttering hit her heart in anticipation of a barking.

"You were right."

"Huh?"

"I was more worried about my job than the people I'm in office to tax. Hell, I was more worried about my job than my wife, and I shamed you in front of everybody. That was not right."

"I should not have defied my Lord Sherriff and husband, it won't happen –"

"Dammit, Lucy, I am apologizing to you," he quipped with a sharpness in his tone, "For forty years I have had to be correct; there has never been another choice. My opinion is right. My ideas are right. My values are right, for me, but my life isn't just about me anymore. I forget that a lot…"

"Would you have done it; burnt the church?"

"No, it's expensive to build another one." He screwed up his blue eyes as she sourly blinked.

"Do you agree that John should have hurt all of those people?"

"I don't know… probably not."

"You wouldn't have invented that insane punishment, not for people that probably didn't do anything wrong."

"Everybody has done something they deserve to be punished for." Gisborne bit before sitting next to her.

"What have I done to deserve punishment like that, hm?"

"You fell in love with a stupid bastard," He eventually replied, giving her a giggle, "But I can't… how do I do this, Lucy? How do I make anything besides this job more important than myself? I have killed for this title and I would die for it, too."

"Would you die for your sons?"

"Sure."

"And what about me? What if I was in that burning church – would you have run in to save me?"

"Of course."

"There you are, then," she shrugged and put his hands onto her lap, "You love more than just some silly throne. Don't overthink it, Guy, it will come to you. In time the title of Sherriff will fit you comfortably, but it's a big responsibility that you will need to figure out."

"I ought to be able to do it now." He felt the discomfort of arrogant frustration tighten on his skin like a shrunken sweater; he was so perfect, how could he not be a master at this job within a month?

"I believe in you, never think any differently."

"I cannot have you doubt me in public –"

"I made a fool of myself and you today in Locksley and I am truly sorry, my love."

"I cannot have to babysit you or censor your words," he stated very seriously, vaguely recalling Marian's ridiculous habits of running her mouth with some opinion or another, "You are a Sherriff's wife and you must act like it."

"I will, I promise. I understand if there are repercussions for my actions." Lucy looked out the window with a heaviness as he examined her words and insinuations. Her blonde hair absorbed the striking color of the sunset outdoors, the shimmer of the losing sun dancing on her emerald eyes.

"You learned your lesson earlier, didn't you?" He referred to the violent hit across her face on the cloudy dirt road, she remembered, and Lucy nodded.

"Can you forgive me for being such a silly girl?"

"Going to have to, we're stuck together, aren't we?"

"I guess we are." She smiled when he stroked his fingers through her hair; Lucy leaned into her husband's shoulder and fizzed as he held her close. Neither word nor image could describe just how much she adored and loved this man, regardless of his ego and flaws. Surely he deserved a better wife, but she was trying so hard to be it. She was convinced he knew.

"If you really want forgiveness, you're going to owe me something." Guy teased as he gravitated his lips towards hers, the smell of her perfume mingling on his mind.

"Oh really?" She bit her lip before accepting his kiss with tenderness. Lucy was always so youthful and excited when their lips met, even after years of crafting a relationship, and Gisborne could not believe just how much positivity he could put into a person. It was the most amazing feeling the world. She carefully ran a finger along his stubble before gently tugging away.

"Is the King going to be angry at me?" She whispered with a sprinkling of fear.

"Don't worry about it," Guy pressed their lips together again, "I will always take care of you. Besides, I'm afraid he quite fancies you."

"Ew." Lucy blurted out before crushing her mouth shut. Gisborne laughed and pulled her hips to sit right against his on the bench.

"My thoughts exactly."


	37. I'm Counting on You

*** Sincere apologies, all you wonderful people! I have spent the past several weeks going through Europe and have not had the time (or internet connection!) to keep this story up. I am back, though, so here we go! ***

"But I want to go horse riding! Why don't I get to go? It's not fair!" Elizabeth set down her feather quill with defiance, her murky blonde hair swaying as she popped out her chin. Sherriff Gisborne's stare did not waver.

"Because I asked you to finish your alphabet this morning and instead you put it off. Besides, I already taught you to ride."

"But I want to go; I am a big girl and I ought to be able to decide."

"You're six," her father chuckled, "you've got a while before that." Lovingly he cupped a palm behind her head. Libby had grown in a mystical flash of smoke and her brothers were not far off in their progress; her face was very round with popping cheeks and shaded sandy blonde hair. Guy had no doubt that she would grow to resemble Lucy in an impeccable way. He was consistently pressed back with pride and shock that each of his three children were blossoming individual interests, tastes, and personalities. If it weren't for so much screaming and crying he would be craving to return them to infancy.

"Mum lets me pick my own outfits."

"Very nice. I tell you what, finish up and have your mother bring you to meet us in the field, yeah?"

"Okay!"

"But you must finish your writing practices."

"Fine." Libby pouted her lips theatrically and hunkered back down to her parchment. Her mind was as mentally sharp as a razor, absorbing literacy with ease. Gisborne felt his skin washed with pride as he no doubt accredited her intelligence and wit to his genes. With one last pat on the head he left his only daughter to her studies. Guy traveled through the cool stony corridors of his fortress, wound down the steps, and arrived to his other giddy offspring at the stables. His boys were quick to hand select the stallions they wished to train with; both of them opted for brown horses with trailing, wispy manes. A smile crept along his lips as the men led their animals around the fortress walls to a field that lie just north of the castle.

In the warm breeze of late spring tall grasses danced with the air, their tips stroking the stone walls of Nottingham castle that served as a backdrop for the afternoon ride. Gisborne gently assisted each toddler onto the saddles of their respective companions, their weight a surprise to him as their growth rocketed, and took a gentle hold of the reins. The sons of Gisborne were all smiles underneath thin clouds as they focused to remain stable on the horse's spine. Guy strolled casually backwards, hands leading both animals along, and observed the excitement gobble up his children. Each of his kids boasted the sharp blue eyes he did, their stares captivating. The twins also shared his raven hair, Alec choosing to grow his longer in mimic of his dad's shoulder length curls. They all suffered from the hard-nosed starvation for competition, which was no doubt harbored in his DNA, but Lucy argued that it was his nurturing that led them all to find a champion in each task. Someone always cleaned their supper plate first, or one of them would get dressed the fastest; their mother thought it ridiculous, but Guy adored it. The family encroached upon the shade of a walnut tree that danced across blades of grass.

"I'm gonna name mine Chestnut." Drake affirmed with a sturdy tap on the animal's ribs.

"Well then mine is Oakey." Alec added.

"They already have names." Guy bluntly stated, failing to recognize his extinguishment of their childish imaginations.

"But I want it to be Chestnut."

"Yeah, I like Chestnut."

"Mm-hmm." The brothers agreed. Their team formed against their father in no time, which led him to roll his icy blue eyes with amusement.

"Fine. But who do you think is faster?"

"Oh, definitely Oakey." Long haired Alec claimed with a chest full of certainty. Drake slapped on a slapstick degree of shock.

"No, it's Chestnut!"

"Oakey has longer legs!"

"Chestnut has bigger feet!"

"There's only one way to find out," smirked Guy of Gisborne as he handed off the reins to his children, "Race back to the wall?"

"Not much of a race, cause I'm gonna win."

"Oh, uh-uh, Alec!"

"Now boys, remember how to stop? You have to pull these really, really hard, okay? Make sure to stop… your mum will kill me if you break yourselves in half." With a wink the Sherriff let them loose, slapping the flanks of the horses to set off the race. The black haired boys were launched away on the compact muscles of the stallions, the sound of hooves pressing into the field with fervor, their cheers of ecstasy carrying away on the wings of the breeze. When they reached the approximate half way mark of the track Elizabeth and Lucy made their appearance, their soft femininity matching the scene of spring, their cheers adding in to the mix. In the last of the heated moments Chestnut tore paces ahead, his nostrils flaring and gaping for oxygen, his victory quite clear. Drake yanked in the horse and came to a halt with his hands in the air; Alec, meanwhile, pulled his ride to a stop before even hitting the finish line. Clumsily he scrambled off of the saddle and ignored the rest of his family. He threw his riding gloves to the ground and began to stamp away towards the fortress.

"Oh, now honey," Lucy cooed him as she brushed away locks of his hair, "You did so well! I'm so proud. Your balance is so great!"

"Doesn't matter." He muttered, pulling out of his mother's touch.

"Of course it does, doing your best is –"

"Just stop, it doesn't matter what you say."

"Hey," Gisborne barked as he approached, a stiff finger pointed to Alec, "You do not ever speak to your mother that way, do you understand me?"

"Who cares if I'm good at it? Drake's better at horse riding, he's better at spelling, and he's going to be Sherriff anyways! You don't care and neither do I!" His small hands were balled into clenched fists as he tore away in a sprint, his footsteps drawing him back to the castle. Elizabeth feigned distraction with her victorious sibling.

"Oh hell no." Guy muttered as his brows furrowed; after only two steps his wife intervened and laid her hands to his chest. Lucy stared into his face knowingly and with a dash of persecution, as if the toddler's tantrum held weight. It made him crinkle his nose more.

"Guy we need to speak to him."

"What do you think I'm –"

"Not yell at him, speak to him." She clarified with a strength that lied beneath a veil of her sweet tone. The past five years had been kind to her skin; she still held the childish smile that could pull Gisborne from his waves of emotion. Lucy put her hand on his cheek and grinned meekly. Age and authority had marked her husband differently. His face was still strong, his stare piercing, but now the fine wrinkles that used to cradle his eyes framed them with distinction.

"Alright." He conceded with a similar attitude to Alec's outburst. Lucy hadn't even a whiff of doubt from where her son's mood swings were rooted; he was the spitting image of his father in more ways than one. When the married couple made their way into Alec's bedroom the smoke of anger that had whirled around Guy dissipated among the toy soldiers and wood carved Roman chariots. The boy sat upon a pillow of his own sulk in one of the corners, his hands fiddling with a replica horse; he was hitting another horse figure into the ground. Lucy did not hesitate to squat beside him, small curls from her hair dripping down to brush his shoulder. Alec pretended not to notice, but became clearly frustrated as Gisborne took a chair from the desk and joined them.

"What's all this nonsense then, my dear?" She sweetly hummed while brushing away a wrinkle from her lilac gown. Her son watched as the ripple of the fabric vanished.

"I don't want to learn horse riding anymore."

"Why's that? I think your posture is fantastic."

"Dad can keep teaching Drake."

"It's no fun without you." Guy chipped in, his calloused hand grabbing one of the tin soldiers from the floor; Alec recoiled his toy away from his father's.

"You're angry that Drake is in line to be Sherriff before you?" Lucy threw her guess at the dartboard and, based on his expression, hit the bulls eye, "It isn't anything you did. He was born about half an hour before you were, sweetheart. There's nothing wrong with you."

"But Dad wants to train him to be the best Sherriff; what am I there for? Drake's his favorite anyways."

"That's not true," Gisborne immediately dropped the toy, "I do not have a favorite… I dislike all of you equally," Lucy giggled at his humor as the joked zipped over the boy's head, "Look, I might have said something wrong. Maybe I mention the inheritance too much. There's nothing about your brother that makes me love him more than you… you need to know that."

"See? You're just being a bit silly is all." The blonde mother wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

"You may very well be Sherriff one day, too. I'm counting on you, Alec."

"Yeah, cause one day Drake might die like our dog Charlie did. Then you're in." Came Libby's voice from the door, her head poking into the chamber. Her father shot a stern glare to the eavesdropper.

"Elizabeth!" he scolded before she shrunk away. With another glance to his son, Guy patted his shoulder, "Told you I dislike all of you the same."


	38. She's Trouble

***Thanks for the wait for new chapters! As always, remember to drop some reviews in at the bottom. Enjoy your day!***

"Stop it, you can't say that word."

"Of course I can, idiot. You're an idiot!"

"That's a bad word!"

"Idiot!"

"Mum!"

"You're both being idiots." Guy sneered, which welcomed a smack on the chest from his wife. Lucy continued to button her son's vest while the boys carried on about the epic sword duel they had endured; in reality the five year olds were simply hitting each other with sticks, but Alec was not one to accept that he had lost. The twins were inseparable but easily distinguishable. The youngest Alec was a haunting image of his father with the heavy thick hair and piercing eyes. Drake, though, looked onto people with flecks of green in his stare and a less square jaw.

"Why doesn't Libby have to go shopping for clothes?"

"She has a horse riding lesson and more than enough summer clothes to dress the county." Lucy answered before waiving the boys out the door. With a sweet goodbye she took her sons through the courtyard and ventured into the town where booths and shops were raving with customers and sounds, the wafting voices and smells circling the street. Birds swooped between homes and chirped to herald in the season's arrival; thin clouds coated the sun and bright sky on this May afternoon. Alec sulked with a lead hand in Lucy's, his interest on anything besides more fabric. Drake was, of course, sucking up to her wishes and slipped in and out of shoes with record time. After a grueling two hours the toddlers were finally brought home for more rough housing, bags of larger clothes in hand, and released into the stony enclosure of Nottingham castle. It was days like today, Lucy glumly pondered, that she missed living in the manor in Locksley. The weekends in the country there were charming, but she missed having the expansive and private yard of plush grass only steps away from the kitchen.

In the heart of the piazza a woman in dingy yellow began raising her voice at a pair of guards, piquing Lady Gisborne's awareness. She was taller than her with raven hair and bewildered fright in her eyes. Guy had warned her to avoid begging peasants; he claimed they were not as poor as they said, only trying to take riches to become wealthier than them and rule the county themselves. This lady, though, did not mention money.

"Please, I just need to see Guy. Just for a moment!"

"You do not have an invitation into the castle," one silver skinned worker shoved her back a step, "Get out of here."

"It's important! Surely Guy is here, it will only be a moment –"

"What do you want with him?" Lucy softly inquired from behind, leading the woman to spin and take in a deep breath. Her clothes were rather nice, but forever spoiled by the grit from dirt. Her forest green cloak was magnetically clinging to crisp leaves at the base.

"I just need to speak with him."

"About what?"

"I don't think that's your business," a snootiness found her tone, "can't you go fetch him?" The dark haired lady was oblivious to the crinkle that scrunched Lucy's nose; how dare she speak to the Sherriff's wife like some chambermaid or ewerer? Her bones were itching with the knowledge that this woman referred to her husband by name. There was no title of Sherriff or courteous offer of his name as a Lord of Gisborne and Locksley. Instantly the six years between the infidelity scandal with Marian dissolved, leaving Lucy to panic about the shapely lady who pleaded for her husband. It was a snap decision to worry about, but jealousy was a habit she had developed in their relationship early on. Lucy said nothing else before bursting into the castle, her chin held high with clout to sting salt in the woman's wounds of denial. The curls of hair on the crown of her head bobbed when she quickly wound into the main hall where Guy sat in a nest of parchment maps and scribbled ideas, boxes of crowns and other coins strewn across the table as a tax assessor hastily marked accounts. Lucy looked down to him from the stairs and awaited his acknowledgement.

"Can I help you?" He eventually gazed up with a lack of amusement, fingers holding his place in a reading. She crossed her arms, not unlike their small children, and sucked in air to her breast.

"There's a woman here to see you."

"I don't care."

"I would like to know who she is."

"Then go ask," Guy shook his head; at twenty seven she still held the novelty of a teenager sometimes. When her stare did not change he set down a quill pen and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I swear if you are wasting my time today –"

"Please." She eventually tacked on. With thick reluctance he was led to the courtyard where the scene was continuing. The sea of security men parted for their leader and trembled at the disinterest splattered on his face. Gisborne folded his arms and raised his eyebrows to his wife, who reflected the expression of curiosity.

"Guy!" Their tension was cut as the stranger bustled near the steps, restrained by guards, her eyes soaked in pent up tears that threatened to fall. His face tightened with confusion, "Guy please, it's me, I need your help." Gisborne's face was carved in stone before he waved off the shining knights; he did not uncross his arms or reduce his stance, but the surprise in his words were unmistakable.

"Isabella, what are you doing here?"

"Guy, I need your protection," she scurried to stand near him, which irked Lucy, "I cannot stay there any longer. I know you meant well, but my husband –"

"Where is Squire Thornton?"

"That is who I need you to protect me from. If you had any idea…" her blue eyes darted to the side, "I cannot live like that any longer. You're my big brother, you have to protect me, please. Even if it's just putting in a good word to the Sherriff so I -"

"I am the Sherriff." Gisborne absorbed the air of vanity with what seemed to be a twist of spitefulness in his phrase. He grew taller when Isabella's posture changed.

"Well, look at you."

"I'll consider it; for now you're visiting, is that understood?"

"Of course. I'm grateful." She grinned but shielded a hurt in her heart; Isabella was thrown entirely off kilter by her sibling's status. A Sherriff? But how, and when? She could not imagine why the news hadn't been sent, not that he had spoken to her in years, but why hide such a success? Guy had always been a showboat. Perhaps, she gloomed, she really did mean nothing after the day he shipped her off for marriage. Isabella was escorted inside with a guard, leaving the man in black to wrap his head around the situation. The last thing he wanted to do was babysit her, that is, after all, one of the reasons he had sold her away. What good could come of Isabella?

"You never said you had a sister." Lucy reminded him of her presence.

"I do not have time to play games with you right now." He watched her with attentive eyes that were held firmly in fatigued crow's feet; his age and stress were beginning to rise to the surface of his appearance.

"You lied to me."

"You never asked, did you?" He snarkily smiled before stepping over to her, Lucy's eye level brushing his chin. His attitude was shaken when the hurt in her voice appeared.

"I can't believe you would hide that from me, after everything we –"

"We're not close," he cut her off with a degree of kindness, "She's several years younger than me and got married as a teenager. Blood is the only thing that makes me think we're a family."

"Oh… well, maybe it's good for the kids to have an aunt."

"She's trouble; bound to get them mixed up in something."

"Don't be so bitter," Lucy rubbed his arm reassuringly, "You're Sherriff, you can always kick her back out." She joked as he broke into a tiny grin, their minds both drifting off with the curiosities surrounding Isabella. What was so wrong with her marriage? How did she get to Nottingham? Gisborne didn't care, he just couldn't afford to have her worming in his way again like as youngsters. Lucy was sensing a childlike selfishness for her husband; she was the only family he had, or so she had believed. Surely this foolishness was unnecessary, but nonetheless, she clung to his hand holding hers. Lucy didn't imagine that Isabella would be capable of wreaking any drop of the havoc she had in store for her big brother, though, and soon she would fall victim as well.


End file.
